


Impulse Control

by SavageSeraphim



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fake AH Crew, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Prostitution, it's fahc so I think that's implied but just so we're clear, there's some murder in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavageSeraphim/pseuds/SavageSeraphim
Summary: The Vagabond is no one's saint or savior. But when he sees two men doing their best to protect each other, with Los Santos' toxic nature threatening to snuff them both out early - He can't just walk away.





	1. Impulse Control

The night that the Vagabond ends up in some forgotten motel with cash burning in his pocket is not a night where he is feeling particularly proud of himself. He was on a work vacation, but such a thing could hardly be counted as a reward. It was more of a Crew-imposed murder break, Ryan had lost his temper one too many times in too few weeks and Geoff wasn’t having it. He tossed the Vagabond out of the penthouse and refused him any more jobs until he could, quote, “Get his freaky fucking impulses under control before he caused any more trouble,” end quote. 

So Ryan picked an impulse that wouldn’t have his mask showing up on Los Santos’ nightly news.  
(It’s coveted airtime, really, in a city with this much crime the fact that the Vagabond can even get a few minutes of airtime, let alone a half hour segment, is pretty damn impressive. Geoff doesn’t seem to agree.)

Though the information is not relevant to their usual work, the Vagabond would have to be blind not to notice the shady motels and back alleys where deals were made not only in dimebags and white powder but also in lingering gazes and alluring smiles. Most nights, he steers clear. But somehow, under waning moonlight with thick black paint still smeared around his eyes and a chunk of his last heist cut stored in his leather jacket, somehow this night he turns onto the darkened street. The intimidating figure of the Vagabond is truly all Ryan has going for him - He’s got no idea what the fuck he’s doing. What he’s looking for. Who to ask.

As luck would have it, someone picks up on this. The man who approaches Ryan is a smooth talker, though that’s about all he has going for him. Built, sure, with dark eyes that seem to size up the Vagabond on a cool, calculated manner as he talks to him, all deference despite the shrewd look in his eyes. But there’s something off-putting about the man, and it’s all Ryan can do not to bristle when he starts talking.

“Looking for someone?” There’s something leading in the man’s tone and Ryan can’t just say no, what else is he doing here? He answers as if on impulse, chucking whatever decency he was holding on to into the wind. 

“Something like that, yeah.” The Vagabond has mastered the skill of keeping his tone aloof, but if the man’s grin is anything to go by, it doesn’t quite hit the mark this time.

“I get it. Not your type - Wasn’t expecting to be. But if you’re really looking for something in particular, I can help you find it. See, there’s a place not far from here, plenty of options, fair prices-”

God, he’s really doing this. It feels like a sales pitch, so casual, and Ryan lets himself be led into it because that is why he’s here, isn’t it? Easier than a one night stand and only a bit costlier, just a night with a stranger so he can burn off the extra steam, there’s nothing wrong with that. He lets himself be put at ease and nods along, only raising an eyebrow when he’s offered a ride. 

“I can make it there myself.” This is still Los Santos, after all, and Ryan’s out to buy sex, not get a kidney stolen. The man only shrugs, informs Ryan that his name is Kevin, and writes down the address on a piece of paper before handing it over.

“I’ll meet you there, but if you get there before, go ahead and tell ‘em I sent you there. It’ll help you out and, you know, commission and all that.” Ryan doesn't know, but he nods anyway, glancing at the paper in his hand. 

It’s an embarrassingly short time before Ryan arrives at the motel, already feeling a minor twinge of regret, but he’s too far in now. He’d blame the quick trip on his knowledge of the city if there was anyone around to question him. The paper prompts him towards a front office - The whole place must be paid for by this business and he walks in, forcing an outward appearance of confidence.

The woman at the desk looks up at him from behind a few stacks of papers, the nameplate deeming her ‘Carol’, and speaks up before Ryan can think of how to introduce himself.  
“Looking for a room?”  
“Actually, a guy named Kevin gave me this address-”  
“Right, right. Booklet is here, rates are inside. Rates don’t include the room pricing, that’s in the front. Ask if you’ve got questions and bring up your choice when you’re ready.” 

Simple enough. Ryan nods, picks up the mentioned booklet, and starts flipping through. Thankfully, the pictures and information are all fairly standard. Headshots, brief descriptions, and as promised, rates for each. There was some variance, but the prices all seemed...low. Almost suspiciously so, but who was he to say? 

Just as he was nearing the end of the pages, a face caught his eye. Rather, two. One with bright green eyes, sunbleached blond hair and a crooked smile, the other with a smattering of freckles and reddish brown curls. The oddity was that they were both listed on the same page, but just as Ryan was forming how he wanted to ask the question, the now vaguely familiar voice of ‘Kevin’ cut into his thoughts.

“Hey, looks like you made it here alright.” 

This guy again.

“Oh, yeah, those two. They only work together - Well, Jones’ll show up off the books if you really want him alone and offer high enough. Wouldn’t bother with it though. He’s a loudmouth on his own, only tolerable when you’ve got Free to shut ‘im up.”

“I see.” The two faces do draw his eye, more so than any of the others, and if Ryan’s going to do this he might as well go all out, shouldn’t he? A couple hours with two attractive strangers, no late night exasperated phone calls from Geoff. Kevin is making him uneasy, anyway, which is strange for the Vagabond. It’s not that the man registers as a threat, just sleazy. There’s a line of thought that would quickly connect Ryan to the word just as well, he’s hiring two prostitutes for fucks sake, but he decides not to follow it. 

The motel room is paid for in cash and Ryan leaves a false name, generic and bland, before being told that he’d pay his other fees ‘directly’. He leaves just as the woman at the desk picks up a phone, likely to call the two men who would be arriving “Within half an hour”. 

It’s sparse but stocked, as Ryan quickly picks up on by rummaging through dressers and the bedside table, finding a bottle of lube sitting beside the standard motel bible, an unexpected chuckle rising under his breath. Nonetheless, there’s little to entertain him for the first fifteen minutes or so and he fusses with his phone. No messages from Geoff or Jack, no upcoming hits to look forward to. The Vagabond breaths out slow, reminding himself that the break is temporary and he’s managed to keep his impulses under wraps for much longer than this before. 

The knock on the door has Ryan moving, slipping the phone back into his pocket and feeling a sudden burst of nerves. He has no idea how to act, or what to say, but he hopes there’s some deity which favors keeping notorious criminals from horribly embarrassing themselves looking out for the Vagabond. 

“You know John is a really transparent alias.” It’s Jones who enters first, the slight smirk to the edge of his mouth, making his softer features a little sharper as he walks in. Free is quick to follow, lightly socking his - partner? co-worker? in the arm with a whine.  
“Michael, you’re making a bad impression.” The British accent is stark against Michael’s harsher tones, but that isn’t what makes Ryan’s eyes linger on the more lithe figure. 

He’s attractive, no doubt about it, the way he moves is almost delicate, sticking to the other man’s shadow but catching Ryan’s eyes immediately when he notices the man’s gaze. The smile he offers is turned just right, cheeky as the lad catches a bit of his lip between his teeth and hangs off of Michael. The other man, to his credit, doesn’t look put out by this, only shrugging and leaning slightly back into Free.

“We’ve got time to make it up to ‘im. What are you paying for then, few hours?” A raised eyebrow is Ryan’s indication that he’s actually being spoken to, and he’s yet to say a word to the pair. It’s not uncommon for the Vagabond to be perceived as mute, going quiet in situations where he would like to think through his responses or where silence seems appropriate, but this is not really the time. 

“I - Uhm, Yes.” At least it sounds like a statement rather than a question, but Free’s smile widens as he slinks over.  
“New to this, love?” It’s as much a tease as it is a question, but Ryan answers anyway.  
“Yeah.”  
There’s already soft hands on him, placed over his waist as the man moves in, and Ryan feels his breath catch in his throat. But it isn’t the touch that startles him, even when Free’s hands drift lower, intentional in his movements. 

It’s the deep violet bruises along the frontman’s neck, the imprint of fingers pressed in tight and unrelenting. The Vagabond was no stranger to the distinctions between pain for pleasure’s sake and harm inflicted out of viciousness, and the marks certainly seemed to resemble the latter. He’s seen Geoff and Jack emerge from their shared bedroom littered in bruises and scrapes, practically glowing despite the marks. But they are never so dark or pronounced, like the one leaving them was uncaring about the damage inflicted. 

Little of the man’s body is exposed, now that Ryan is looking properly - Suggestive, certainly, in skin-tight dark jeans and a form-hugging dress shirt with the buttons already partly undone - But most of his skin is hidden. There’s a sinking feeling in the Vagabond’s gut that there’s a reason for that. Despite Free’s light touches, Ryan’s eyes flicker over to Michael but instead of taking the brief examination for what it was - How could he know this John was searching him for reckless bruises? - The other man took it as a signal to come over, a cocky grin settling on his lips. 

“What, is Gavin not holding your attention? May be new, but this guy’s fuckin’ greedy.” ‘Gavin pouted, a put on expression that nonetheless did its job at pulling Ryan’s eyes back to him.  
“Am I not doin’ good enough for you, John?”

“It’s - It’s Ryan.” The words came out without being thought through first, he didn’t just give out his name like that to strangers, but who were these two going to tell? Michael’s lips twitched up in a smirk. Maybe Ryan’s imagining it, his brain going all sorts of unhelpful directions, but the expression looks put on. Like there’s something more analytical under it. Cautious, maybe?

“He’s not answering boi, seems like you’re striking out.”

“I am not - Am I, lovely Ryan?” The show of indignance and enduring sultry tones don’t hide an undercurrent of need that Ryan can’t decipher between being a desire to please and desperation. Trying to work it out is slow going because Free is pushing against him, supple and soft with alluring green eyes and there’s practice in the way he makes Ryan melt, pushing him until the back of his knees hit the bed.

And, okay, Ryan’s very aware of what he came here for and there’s a piece of his brain that just wants to let go of all the damn analytics and let desire take over, breathing out a sigh and giving a smile up to the lankier figure that is now pinning him on his back.

“Sorry. I got a little lost there.” The charming look that Ryan has perfected over the years for a persona of innocence seems to work and Gavin’s laughter seems to ease over the previous ‘insult’, fingers curling into Ryan’s blond hair.  
“S’alright love, wouldn’t want you to get overwhelmed.” The last word is spoken into his ear, soft and insistent as the touch of his - No, Michael’s hands, tugging up his shirt. There were scars there, numerous. The Vagabond had been in more than his fair share of firefights and bloodbaths and it showed, silvery scars lacing over each other like a mural that spelled out his lifestyle in neon letters. Los Santos has a habit of sinking her claws into each and every resident, marking them permanently, and Ryan is no exception. Michael gives a low whistle through his teeth. 

“Shit, dude.” The words come out on impulse and even though Michael is quick to go quiet, maybe checking to insure he hasn’t upset their client, Ryan laughs. 

“Should’ve seen the other guy.” It’s a cheesy line, a throwaway, but there’s an undercurrent of danger that surrounds anyone with that many healed wounds who still gets up and walks away. Especially if his opponents don’t. Michael snorts, and the questions in his eyes go unasked as he tugs the shirt off entirely and leaves it unceremoniously on the floor. 

Jones makes quick work of his own shirt, and - oh. Ryan’s breath catches in his throat. If Gavin looked banged up, Michael looked like he’d been beat to hell and back. At first glance it looks mostly like he’d lost a bad fight, but Ryan can tell that many of the bruises are in various states of healing. The Vagabond is no stranger to the dangers of Los Santos, but Michael’s state is appalling. Between the two of them, beautiful as they are, Ryan is starting to feel ill. 

Soft lips find the beating pulse on his neck, moving over it reverently, and Ryan tries to let his breath out slowly, to hide the rising sense of wrongness in his gut. He can’t do this. It’s not that the two aren’t alluring, it’s not even that they’re being paid to do what they’re doing, but the abuse played out on their bodies is making Ryan sick to his stomach and there’s no turning a blind eye. Gavin’s touch is soft and tender and Michael’s hands on his hips are tight and almost commanding, toying with his belt as Ryan gathers his breath.

“Stop.” 

The motions cease, with Gavin sitting back and looking him over, first with concern, as though he’d brushed a bad nerve. Ryan can’t be sure, but he can’t help but imagine that he sees a flicker of apprehension there too. His slight weight still keeps Ryan’s chest on the bed while Michael moves more thoroughly off, circling the mattress until he’s at Gavin’s side.

“Everything alright, love? Need a breather?” 

“I - yeah. Just. Need a breather.” Ryan manages, taking the excuse like a life buoy, floundering for an out. They’re both attractive and the gent can’t help the way his whole body seems eager to respond to the touches, both gentle and rough, as an excellent escape, but his brain is buzzing like a hornet’s nest. Who put the marks there? Over and over again, with so little consideration for either of them? The Vagabond is more familiar with the cruel and often obscene services of Los Santos than most, whether he participates or not, but the low rates to enter the room and the deep bruising paint a picture Ryan would rather not see.

Careful movements grasp Gavin’s waist, shifting his weight easily to the side of the rather than resting on Ryan’s torso. The lad doesn’t seem intent on making the action difficult, instead looking to Michael with concern, some unspoken thing passed between them that Ryan is left in the dark of. 

“You here for something else, man?” It’s Michael that speaks up first, and though Ryan would not have previously called his rough tones affectionate, they certainly were in comparison to what he hears now. Calculated, businesslike, almost resigned. Gavin looks tense, gaze flickering from Michael to Ryan and back again.

“Michael…”

“No, I’m - Not here for - fuck, what the hell is this place?” Ryan breaks first, frustration and anger bubbling up at the accusation in Michael’s tone, at the fear and worry in Gavin’s. Something is fucked up here, worse than desperate money earned between the sheets with put-on softness and sexual tension. It makes him feel stupid somehow, out of his depth, and that is not a place the Vagabond often finds himself. Shirtless and sitting on the edge of a motel bed, with two men just shy of his own age looking at him like he’s something pitiable, clueless despite the scarring across his body and the dark paint still smeared over his eyes. 

“It’s what you want it to be, if you wanna play gentle we can, don’t worry love,” Gavin’s voice is soothing as a balm, but it throws the other option in stark contrast, one that Ryan hadn’t completely realized upon walking in. The realization hits him like a gut punch, that Kevin had seen a dark, well-built figure in the street at night, clearly itching for something, and decided he might want a punching bag as much as a good fuck. And these two - no one signed up for that kind of work. Not if they had any way out. Anger doesn’t show the same as it used to in Ryan, in trembling hands seeking out a gun, but it does show in tense muscles and violence in ice blue eyes. Enough to be noticed. Enough to prompt a reaction.

Michael is the first to move, getting into Ryan’s face and gripping a hand into his hair. It hurts, but it’s a dull hurt and Ryan is more surprised than anything, looking up at Michael. He looks almost frightening, and though the Vagabond has faced far more dangerous opponents in the past the fiery look to Michael’s eyes startles him for a moment. His first instinct is to strike out but he stifles it, jaw clenched. He can see the way Michael’s body tenses, expecting the blow that doesn’t come, unable to relax when it doesn’t and breathing out a growl that almost sounds frustrated despite the fact that he’s got Ryan knocked back onto the bed, pinned under his smaller form like it’s easy, like the Vagabond couldn’t throw him off in a moment.  
“Are you actually fuckin’ lost or something, Ryan?” Michael’s tone is still harsh, but there’s something worried in it too now, less accusatory and more...unnerved. And, yeah, maybe he’s right. Maybe Ryan’s gotten into something out of his depth because someone took one look at the Vagabond and assumed he knew more, was more connected to the worst parts of this city than he actually was. Wouldn’t be the first time. For now, he needs something to say to ease the growing tension in the room.

“Can I...talk to your boss?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Gavin’s face goes white as a sheet and Michael all but shoves off of him, scrambling to his feet until he’s right next to the other man, standing protectively beside him, whole body tense like the smallest thing could set him off. Ryan’s familiar with the feeling, it’s very similar to the slowly building heat in his chest, looking for retribution not for himself but for these two lads who have no business being so fucking scared and hurt. 

It’s Gavin who steps forward, a light tremble to his touch as he moves as if to comfort Ryan, the attempts at soothing marred by the sheer panic in his tone.

“I - We - If we’ve upset you, let me make it up to you, awright love? No need to drag anything else into this, we can stay a little longer if that’ll help.” It’s a good effort, but the Vagabond is well-versed in recognizing fear, and Gavin’s practically smothered by it. Ryan tries to steady his breathing, to not let it overwhelm him.

“That’s not what I mean, I - something’s fucked up here, isn’t it?” 

“You’re going to get us in trouble like this.” It’s Michael’s voice now, a hand on Gavin’s shoulder as if to pull him back. 

“You’re already in trouble.” It’s not even a question, and Ryan can’t stop it before it leaves his lips, sounding more like a threat than he means, it’s just - No one ends up in a place like this without debts, connections, something going wrong.

“We don’t need more. Either take what you want or leave, alright?” 

And Ryan - God, he doesn’t want to, but the look in the man’s eyes is pure fire, somewhere between daring and pleading. Gavin looks halfway into a panic, and Ryan doesn’t want to leave the two of them but there’s no way this doesn’t end in violence if the Vagabond is brought into the mix. And he has orders. And this isn’t his fight. And none of that quells the sick feeling in his gut at the thought of walking out the door and leaving these two to fate.

“Okay. Okay, fine, I’m going.” Ryan pulls out his wallet, finding crisp hundreds with somewhat unsteady hands. He’s going to need help sleeping tonight, if he gets any at all. It’s no small sum, but it’s something to ease his conscious, easy to make back and nothing he wasn’t planning on burning through that night anyway. He doesn’t miss the sound of Gavin sucking in a breath and instead talks as if to the ground, grabbing his shirt from the floor and tugging it on with his jacket. 

“That...should be enough for the night. Take a break. And -” Ryan goes through one pocket, feeling a familiar switchblade handle. It’s almost comforting, but he quickly goes to the other, to a small set of cards. Matte black, a single phone number in grey, and bundles it with the cash. 

“If you need anything. I could help, take care of you, just - think about it.” Ryan knows how he sounds, like some hopeless fool with too much income and not enough sense, as if he hasn’t spilled blood for that money, but he’s willing to bet they can guess that much. Gavin’s giving him a look that’s hard to decipher, but there’s gratitude mixed in with the confusion, and Michael’s tension seems to drop a bit.

“Thanks.” It’s soft, coming from Michael but Ryan breathes out a sigh anyway, still not comfortable walking away from this. 

“Try to be careful.” It’s rich, coming from him, but he says it anyway. As he turns to leave, a sudden force grips him from the back - gangly limbs, wrapped around him in a tight embrace.

“We won’t forget this.” It’s Gavin, comparative tiny thing that he is, nearly squeezing the life out of Ryan for a brief moment before letting go. “Thank you, Ryan.”

He has to leave then, or he won’t walk out of here without these two. It’s not his place, it’s not his fight, he’s on a fucking murder break - Ryan’s repeating those words in his head as he leaves the room, as he heads to the desk. He doesn’t want to leave without making sure no one else is going to bother Michael and Gavin, at least for tonight.

“I need to head out for an hour or so to deal with a quick work issue. I paid for the night, should be back soon. I don’t want anyone using my time while I’m gone.” It’s clipped, almost professional, sharpened by the Vagabond’s clearly shortened fuse and he gets an affirming nod and a promise that “Of course, we’ll make sure of it.” before heading out into the darkened parking lot, breathing out a sigh and a string of curses that could make Geoff’s ears turn red. 

Speaking of.

He couldn’t go to Geoff for this. Or Jack - his joint employers, both reliable and overall good people for this sort of business, but they were both rather, understandably, put out with him right now. Ryan’s own fault, he’d made too many mistakes lately. And this was looking very easily like it could be the next one. But he wanted, needed more information, and he needed it without making a big show of bringing the Vagabond out to play. 

He got on his motorcycle, kicking up the stand and taking the familiar route back to the safehouse he’d been staying in the past couple weeks, mind still racing faster than the bike as it tore through the alleyways and back streets that had become Ryan’s map of the city. 

He was just going to have to be patient. To see if they contacted him, and hope that whatever it was he needed to do to protect them, Geoff would eventually forgive it. He didn’t even stop to think about why it mattered so much - there were thousands of lost souls in Los Santos, entrapped by debts or favors or blood. The Vagabond himself had caused no shortage of grief, it was the nature of the life he lived, the work he did. But he wasn’t going to over-examine why he wanted to do a good thing here - someone else would do it for him, surely. The Vagabond had gotten this far trusting his instincts and it hadn’t killed him yet.

He just hoped by the time they decided to trust him, the damage wasn’t already done.


	2. Firecracker

The next week that passed by was agonizingly slow. His phone was practically silent, Geoff and Jack were serious this time about keeping the Vagabond benched. He got one update from Jack, an encouragement that he was ‘doing well’ as if that was some sort of solace. 

Ryan was about to lose his goddamn mind. He’d taken to pacing about his safehouse, talking to his plants, rambling about the unfairness of his ‘time-out’, about how boring the whole thing was - but really, he talked more about the two men he’d met just days before. About how he was worried, for fucks sake, and how pathetic that was too. Two strangers with some bruises and it was keeping a masked murderer up at night. 

They haven't called him, and Ryan should be taking that as a good sign. He said to call if they needed him, they're not calling, they must be fine. But he’d been stupid, too. What if they didn't have access to phones? What if they were being watched too closely? Ryan had been doing an unnerving amount of research in his abundant spare time, asking questions that would have had him red under the unfamiliar mask were it not for the nerves.  
They weren't the kind of questions Ryan wanted associated with the Vagabond, especially if that information might end up back with Jack and Geoff. So he’d worn a different getup, plain dark bandana and grey hoodie, looking for all the world like a common criminal. And he’d gotten a fair amount of information that way, that the motel he’d visited was part of a relatively small but lucrative business, that the ‘workers’ were often far worse off than Los Santos’ regular cast of night walkers. 

Far more controlled, for one, since they were most liable to run - if they had anywhere to go. A fair amount of them had their papers stolen, or had threats hanging over the heads of those they cared about. Ostensibly they were under a sort of contract, usually for a certain amount of money, and once they earned that for their boss they'd have whatever threat lifted. Not the most reliable promise, but what else was there to go on in a place like this?

None of it had eased the sick feeling in his gut, but he didn't feel like going back to the motel would do any good. Michael had been cautious to talk about anything there, worried about ‘trouble’, presumably from his boss. He could get them another break, but then what? Back to pacing in his apartment for days on end, waiting for any kind of distraction. 

There was another option, of course, though it sort of betrayed the idea of a ‘safe house’ and if Jack found out he’d never hear the end of it.

He dialed the number anyway.

“Sundown Services, how may we help you?”

“Do you do house calls?” Ryan hated the sound of his own voice, verging a little too close to desperate, sure to be read in all the wrong ways. Hopefully that would play in his favor. 

“We do, yes. Do you have anything...particular in mind? Or anyone?” It's so easy, it brushes against Ryan’s natural paranoia to be discussing anything this openly, but Los Santos is a nest of depravity and this is hardly anyone’s top priority.

“Jones and Free.”

“Let me see for you.” There's quiet, broken up by the sound of a notebook flicking open and a little hum before Ryan gets a response.

“Free is unavailable, Jones is...booked for later this evening, unfortunately.”

“For how much?” It's a question asked with little thought, and Ryan bites his tongue against backtracking. He’s out of his element, but caution won't get him what he wants. The line goes quiet another moment, Ryan can tell the other end has been muted. 

He waits, feet carrying him through a familiar circle around his apartment, past the window where sunlight was still streaming weakly through the curtains, past the kitchen disaster he’d yet to clean after a failed attempt at using baking as a stress relief, past the unkempt bedroom littered in weapons and blankets tossed from the now bare mattress.

The line clicks back on and a different voice answers, deeper, curious. 

“You know, I hate to disappoint a paying customer, either of you. I don't suppose you’re willing to share time with another patron?”

The thought flashes through Ryan’s head, watching some stranger abuse Michael, forced to either stand aside or step in, letting someone put bruises on top of old injuries-

“I don't share.” The words come out clipped and cold, and the voice on the other end is immediately bending a bit, trying to salvage the conversation.

“Of course, of course. Had to put it on the table. I can either schedule you for his next available time, or you can outbid the previous patron. It's a bit higher, but if you're not in the mood for patience-"

“How much?”

The voice rattles off a rate for the night. It's certainly higher than the motel, when it was both Jones and Free, but it's still easy enough. Worth it, if he can ease his mind for a couple hours, ask the questions he couldn't ask before.

“Done.” 

“Address?” Jack’s going to kill him. He probably deserves it.

Ryan gives the address anyway, already thinking about where he’ll move to next on the island. There's no shortage of open property, at least.

“Any timeframe for when you want him? Otherwise we’ll have Jones over as soon as possible.”

“That'll be fine, thanks.”

“Enjoy your night.”

The line clicks off and Ryan breathes out a heavy sigh, body already buzzing with anticipation. He still has no fucking clue what he’s gotten himself into, but at least he’ll have a chance to talk with Michael, and the man won't be hurt tonight. That's something, at least.

 

 

It’s not Michael’s job to know a lot of things - where he’s going, who's hiring his services. He gets picked up in a beat up car, driven to a location, and dropped off. He’ll get picked back up when his time is up, so long as the client doesn't pay for longer. Sometimes he doesn't even get to know how long he’ll be gone for - client’s preference, he’s told. But it's already getting late, so he packs an overnight bag just in case and heads over to Gavin’s bed, brushing the hair from his forehead. He was fast asleep, and probably would be till morning. 

A particularly rough client last night had taken a lot out of both of them, but Gavin fared the worst of it. Michael tries, with the rough ones, to take the attention onto himself but - some people just get drawn to Gavin, to his softness, to the way his voice trembles when he’s reaching the breaking point. They tear into that, into all the gentle places like it's going to make them clean somehow, or more likely, because it makes them feel an easy rush of power when someone is begging on their knees.

Michael tries to do away with the memory for now, steeling himself. Gavin gets a rest today - when even their boss can see he needs one, it's because he’s needed it all fucking week. But Michael’s got a client tonight, and from what he heard, this one paid extra to steal his time from someone else. The satisfaction knowing he’s a few dollars closer to getting them out is tempered by the nerves, he’s had this happen before. Impatient clients usually wanted something specific, and it would leave him in far worse shape than the regulars.

That, and whoever got miffed this time would hire him later, take their frustrations out on Michael like he had any say in the matter. It was exhausting to think about, even as he tugged on a dark t-shirt, freshly cleaned of any stains, and grabbed his bag.

The driver took him nearly two hours to the house - barely put together enough to be called that. There was a motorcycle outside to show that clearly someone was home, but the place looked like it had been abandoned for years before the most recent tenant moved in. It wasn’t far from a rocky beach, practically isolated from the bustling city.

It was, without a doubt, the kind of place people like him got fucking murdered. 

Michael’s heart was in his throat, practically choking him, and he tried to swallow it as the car pulled to a stop. This could be...fine. it was secluded, yeah, but was he really any safer in some classy hotel room where people pretended they didn't hear screaming? What was the difference having people around if they never did shit to help? Yeah, it was fucking dangerous, welcome to every other day of his fucking life. Besides. At least Gav wasn't here, if things did take a turn for the worst. 

The driver cleared his throat and Michael took his cue to get out, grabbing his bag and walking up to the door, ignoring the slight shake in his body. The ocean breeze was cold- it was easier to blame that. He could hear movement inside the house, but no one came out to greet him. Michael wrinkled his nose a bit, glancing back to the car who was already pulling away. Bastard better at least be home-

The moment the car was out of sight the door opened, and Michael felt some of his tension drop as he took in the sight of a familiar face.

“....Ryan?” 

The man looked like an absolute train wreck. No paint under his eyes, but the bags were nearly dark enough to make up for it. He had to have slept in the clothes he was currently wearing, probably more than once. His long hair was messily dyed black, at one point nicely braided but almost completely fallen out now. Michael took this all in in moments, looking the man up and down before Ryan could even speak. He looked like he needed a fight more than he needed a fuck, but from their last meeting Michael really wasn't sure the man would take well to either offer, despite having paid for it.

“Yeah. Sorry. Hey Michael. I uh- I wanted to see you again.”

And, okay, Michael can work with that, an easy smile adorning his lips as he steps forward, taking the wreckage of a man into his arms and leaning in. At the very least, this is Michael’s own kind of break. A familiar face, even if it was a desperate and foolish one, was far better than a strung-out stranger looking for a punching bag he could fuck after. His face finds the crook of Ryan’s neck, smelling rubber and sweat and, of all things, rosemary. There's a mess in the kitchen and the oven is on, the man must have been baking. 

“C’mon then. Let's get somewhere comfortable.” Despite their last meeting, Ryan doesn’t seem in any position to protest, allowing himself to be led towards the bedroom. He nearly trips over a bat, ran through with long metal nails, and Michael does his best not to think much of it. The bedroom is as much a wreck as the rest of the place, but it was covered in weaponry. No guns that Michael could see, but all manner of knives and blunt instruments. He can feel a sinking trepidation in his gut - if he’s wrong about this guy, his whole body is going to be intimately aware of it real soon. 

“What do you need, Ryan?” It’s a soft trick he’s learned from Gavin - use the client’s name. If they’ve got any fondness in them, it’ll bring it a little easier to the forefront, so long as they haven’t told you not to. And fuck does Michael hope there’s something fond in this guy, because otherwise he’s going to end up bloody by the end of the hour. 

“I...I needed to see you. I wanted to see both of you but they said Gavin wasn’t available, is he okay?” Ryan’s voice is hesitant, trying to catch Michael’s eye. He tries not to show any sort of surprise or caution when he finally meets it.

“He’s...getting some rest. We had a difficult client yesterday.”

“But you’re here.” There it is, that searching, questioning tone, laden with concern that could smother Michael. He wants to trust it, of course he does, how long has it been since he’s extended the slightest bit of trust to anyone besides Gavin? Their whole world has just been the two of them, their boss, and their clients. Sure, some are friendly enough, just looking for a good time, but lately it feels like more and more are dangerous, unstable, cruel. And this guy - he’s definitely dangerous. Probably unstable. But he’s looking at Michael with such a gentle concern and he breathes out a sigh, carefully pushing Ryan to the bed and straddling his lap, lips close to his neck. 

“I’m here. And you still haven’t told me what you want.” His fingers trail across Ryan’s back, well-muscled under the t-shirt, steeped in tension. He’s been here before what feels like a dozen times. A soft voice, letting him take the lead, unable or unwilling to admit that what they really needed was for someone to hit a pressure point, give them someone to release all their pent-up rage at. All it took was Michael saying the wrong thing, moving the wrong way - anything to give them an excuse. And yet, Ryan seems to be relaxing under the smooth touches, tugging Michael closer like he hasn’t had contact this close in quite some time. 

“I’m worried about you. I can’t stop worrying, thinking about you and Gavin. When that man on the phone said you were meant to be with someone else, the thought of seeing that -” There’s the tension again, the clear signal that Michael needed to tread lightly, and yet everything Ryan is saying seems to encourage Michael to disregard his caution. Worried about them? Two strangers he’d met for, what, half an hour? At most? 

It feels like a trap. 

He might as well spring the fucking thing now, and get it over with.

“What, jealous?” There’s a sneer to Michael’s tone as he rolls his eyes, moving off of Ryan and shoving out of the lingers of an embrace. He doesn’t look the man in the face, ignores the quickly accelerating beat of his own heart. 

“You can’t go getting possessive over hired whores just because we talked for a couple minutes and you decided to play nice the other day. Get a fucking grip.” It’s flippant, it’s mean, and it comes out in a rush so he doesn’t have time to stop himself, to back down and wait for whatever storm is coming to break naturally, always so much worse the longer he has to wait for the first strike. 

Ryan stands, and he isn’t looking directly at Michael, he’s looking off to the side and Michael can feel the ice crawling through his veins, wondering what he’s looking for. There’s plenty of weapons in plain view, his fingers itch to grab one, to protect himself, but the only thing worse than getting his ass beat here and now is getting a consequence later, from his boss, if he gets a complaint from a client. 

 

 

It’s Ryan’s own fault that he takes a mean right hook to the side of his jaw, moving too fast towards a guy who’s clearly expecting some sort of fight, some sort of pain. He’s been acting cagey the entire time he’s been there, shifting from sensual to rough, as if trying to figure out what Ryan wants, and what he seems to have settled on is that the gent wants a fight. 

He’s not entirely wrong, but Ryan’s quarrel isn’t with the pale, battered figure in front of him, looking like he wants nothing more than to run the moment Ryan’s face bursts into pain. Nonetheless, his eyes narrow, and before Michael can make it more than a step towards the door his wrist is in Ryan’s grip. In another moment he’s pinned against the wall, the defiant turn of his mouth marred by the shakiness of his breathing.

“Michael.” There’s a danger to that voice, and Ryan knows it. Low, threatening - practiced to perfection. 

“Just fucking do what you’re going to do, alright man? No games.” It’s a plea, almost, and Ryan breathes a heavy sigh. The oven starts to beep, incessant, and the gent steps back, leaving Michael to nearly collapse against the wall. 

“Take a breather, then come to the kitchen.” He turns without another word, thoughts buzzing in his head, most impossible to decipher aside from a handful of very loud, very murderous standouts. Michael and Gavin’s boss needed to die. Painfully. Slowly. 

Not something he could do tonight.

Whoever Michael and Gavin’s client yesterday had been also needed to go, because the closer Michael pressed to him the more he noticed new wounds, barely scabbed over. Burn marks. Okay, so, Ryan was going to need to light him on fire. 

They were almost soothing thoughts as Ryan pulled out the newly baked loaf of bread, grabbing butter from the counter and setting it out on the table, barely cleared of the earlier mess. 

And then what? He needed to know what this guy had on the two of them, so he could get it back. If it was just debt, it could die with him. But he’d have had to have been deaf or stupid not to notice Free’s accent - could be immigration papers. That was a bit more tricky. The Vagabond didn’t have that kind of skill set, he’d never learned proper forgery. Jack knew people who did, though the price was high to call in that kind of favor. 

Then of course there’s Michael, who still hasn’t joined him, and whether he would go with this plan at all. Ryan was a stranger with no stake in this game, far as Michael knew he could well be out of his depth. Of course, Michael had no way of knowing the Vagabond, what he was capable of. Taking out a low level sex trafficker? One who already thought Ryan - or rather ‘John Peters’ was a rather unimaginative and easily attached client? Hardly a challenge. The worst would be the reprimands from Jack and Geoff, but they’d get over it, especially considering the circumstances. 

It was a few minutes more before Michael joined him, eyes downcast, looking on edge but no longer with the malicious flash to his expression.

“Ryan, I’m s-”

“Don’t, it’s okay. You’ve got a good right hook, I should’ve seen it coming. Eat something, alright?”

Michael slowly pulled out one of the cheap folding chairs, sitting and taking a piece of bread and smearing it with soft butter. It was still warm, the scent heavy with rosemary and other spices, filling him with the same warmth as he ate. Ryan sat across, eating his own as the quiet settled. It wasn’t until Michael was on his third slice that Ryan spoke up.

“I know you don’t have much reason to trust me. But I really do want to help. You and Gavin both - you deserve better than this.” 

“Gavin does.” The answer comes quick, almost as if Michael didn’t have time to think about it before it leaves his lips. “He’s not - this isn’t okay for him, especially if we keep getting people like-” Michael shoots a glance up at Ryan, as if trying to read him. Whatever he finds, it’s hard to tell. “Like yesterday. I try to protect him and they just use that too.” 

He wants to ask, to know what happened, but there are some guesses Ryan can make without dredging up specific details. 

‘If you’ve got a tight knit group, take them in twos. An inch of loyalty can get you a mile of obedience, if you play it right.’ The Vagabond had mentors, before Geoff and Jack. People who taught him how to get information out of captives, how to make a death into a statement. This is a very different arena, but the same rules seem to apply. Much to Michael and Gavin’s detriment. 

“It’s not going to get better there.”

“And what are we supposed to do about it? I can’t leave him, and he can’t get out. They took everything he had when he came over - documents, money, everything. He can’t go home, says there’s people looking for him there that’d do worse than we’ve got here-” Michael looks distraught, and so far hasn’t said a single thing about himself.

“And you? What’ve they got on you?”

It’s quiet for a long moment after that, and Ryan’s nearly sure Michael isn’t going to answer. 

“...Him, now. I paid off my first debt already, getting smuggled into Los Santos, away from a crew up in Jersey that wanted my throat slit. But if I leave, Gavin’s alone. And…” There’s anger, under the resignation, under the fear.

“Look, I - I hear more than I’m supposed to. I snoop. There’s someone who wants Gavin - permanently. A real sick fucker, boss doesn’t let him through the doors unless he wants someone gone. But he’s not going to give Gavin over while we’re still making him money. So long as we’re not trouble.” 

“Does Gavin know about this?” Somehow, Ryan’s pretty sure he already knows the answer before it flies from Michael’s lips.

“Fuck no. Does that guy look like he needs an extra thing to panic about on his plate? He’s barely holding shit together as it is.”

Ryan leaned back, looking over Michael as he tore apart a new slice of bread into tiny bits, seeming unaware he was even doing it.

“Okay.”

“Okay? What do you mean okay?”

“I mean, I’ve got an offer for you. For both of you. But I need you both here to hear it.” He couldn’t put this on the table without telling Gavin, it wouldn’t be fair. Michael’s face scrunched a little when he wasn’t entirely pleased with something, but he didn’t look like he wanted to argue about it. 

“Should be free...well, boss is probably gonna give that other guy his time tomorrow. Gav’s on the bench for that one, but he doesn’t go alone. Probably the next day though. I haven’t heard about anything set for then.” At the mention of ‘the other guy’ Ryan couldn’t help but feel a rising sense of protectiveness, which Michael must have been looking for because he snorted.

“Yeah, ‘preciate tonight and all, but he’s probably gonna be pissy. Don’t worry, I’ve handled this shit for this long, I’ll handle tomorrow too. Plus, it’ll give Gav a little extra rest.” There was a weary confidence to the lad - clearly not eager to face it, but knowing he’d get through it nonetheless. 

“Do you want to head back tonight? Get more time with him?” Ryan’s offer was made carefully, still trying to chart an unknown landscape, but Michael was already shaking his head.

“Even if you paid right, boss would still get the thought in his head that I’m not doing a good enough job if you sent me back that quick.” 

“Right.” There was quiet for a bit then, as Ryan started cleaning up the kitchen from its state of disarray, realizing he was going to need to make an actual meal of some kind for Michael if he was staying this long. The Vagabond’s habits weren’t exactly healthy, and while he was fairly certain the man wouldn’t complain he deserved better treatment than he was willing to ask for. However, the house was relatively barren of the ingredients to make an actual meal, and it was growing late. He glanced over to Michael, noticing that the man was glancing towards the living room, seeming lost in thought.

“Chinese or pizza?” 

“Fuck dude, it’s been so long since I’ve had chinese food. Will they deliver out here?” Just like that, Michael seemed to snap back to earth, getting out of his chair and trying to help clear the mess before Ryan gently moved him away. 

“It’s within range, technically. I’ll call and then take a quick shower, you can take over the living room if you want. TV works.” Ryan was already pulling out his cell, one of about half a dozen, before Michael grabbed his arm. It was a quick movement, but he wasn’t gripping hard just. Holding him there.

“Hey, Ryan? Thanks for this. All of it. I’ll find a way to pay it back.” Ryan wanted to try and convince him that wasn’t necessary, but hearing the steel in Michael’s voice and seeing the determined set to his jaw, the gent decided not to pursue that. 

“We can worry about that when the two of you are safe, alright?” 

The night past that was strangely easy - After he’d ordered most the menu from the chinese place and taken his shower, Ryan found Michael curled up on his couch with his favorite blanket draped over him, watching some re-run episode of ‘Always Sunny’. The man looked barely half awake, safe and comfortable. For a moment, Ryan felt a sense of inner peace - almost immediately encroached on by the reminder that in the morning, someone was going to pick Michael up, and drive him off to some stranger with a bad temper who would no doubt abuse him. 

He managed to shake the thought, finding a place on the couch that gave Michael a bit of room. It seemed like a safe bet, but within ten minutes Michael had came over and made a comfortable place against Ryan’s side, murmuring something under his breath about the house being too damn cold like he needed an excuse. It’s nice, though Ryan doesn’t say much he plays idly with the copper curls as the TV turns to background noise.

For the first time in a long time, there's no racing to the Vagabond’s pulse, no scratching at the inside of his skull. He’s just...present, sitting on the worn couch with a warmth by his side, leaning against Ryan like he’s the safest person in the world. 

They're a few episodes in before there's a knock on the door, and Ryan feels some of his tension snap back into place, alerting Michael beside him almost as quickly. 

“Ryan?” The voice is quiet, and they both breathe for a moment before the knock sounds again and Ryan remembers.

“Right. Food.” he raises his voice from the couch “Just a minute!” Gently removing himself from the space Ryan grabbed a wallet from the side table near the door, thumbing out a few bills and opening the door. The transaction is smooth, a considerable tip and a quick thanks prevents the driver from seeming too curious about the out of the way location. The oversized plastic bag is full of smaller containers- Ryan can't even remember all he ordered. What he does notice is the way Michael immediately seemed to perk up from the couch, and the growl of his stomach.

It’s laid out over the coffee table, cables and magazines moved under the table to make way for enough food to feed half a dozen people at least. 

“Take what you want, I’m not picky.” Ryan spoke after there was a moment where Michael didn’t move, glancing to the side at the gent as if waiting for him to go first. It takes another quick moment before Michael shrugs and grabs the container nearest along with a fork.

“Fuck, okay, my week was already made walking in here but this doubles it.” The lad spoke between bites, as if needing to remind himself to take a break. Ryan laughed, a nice sound after what felt like hours of walking on eggshells with each other. They ate mostly in companionable silence, passing containers back and forth and trying the different options. For Ryan, most it was familiar - only two places delivered out to the safehouse, and he’d forgotten quite a few times when he was running low on groceries. But for Michael at least, the lad seemed to be enjoying it like it was new again. 

Once they were full and the considerable leftovers had been moved to the fridge, Ryan leaned back, breathing a sigh. He could fall asleep like this - with some semblance of a plan in mind, with Michael at least safe for the night and knowing Gavin, where he was, should be undisturbed. But Michael deserved a good night in a bed, which meant Ryan should go make it for him. He shifted, starting to get up, before Michael’s voice stopped him.

“Hey, Ryan?” 

“Yes Michael?”

“Feel free to tell me to shut my fuckin’ mouth if this is too personal.” The lad started, and Ryan frowned, cocking his head slightly. “But uh...What exactly do you do?”

And there it was. The obvious question that Ryan was half hoping to avoid, half trying to come up with an answer for in the back of his mind before someone asked. He knew that Michael knew he couldn’t be some regular civilian - They had both seen his body, seen the scars there. And now Michael had seen his home, littered in weapons, remote from the city. It was only a matter of time.  
“Uhhhm. Can I start with asking what you think I do?” It was a bit cheap, but considerably less aggressive than telling Michael to drop the issue. Ryan was going to have to show the lad he could trust him - he just. Wasn’t real sure that this particular bit of information was going to help.

“I’d say hired gun, but someone low level doesn’t make it out of that many close encounters.” The tone was musing, and Michael seemed almost to be sizing Ryan up, taking the guessing game rather seriously. “But if you were in a big crew, you wouldn’t have time to be sitting around worrying about a couple of strangers. Probably not old enough to be retired.” The lad shrugged. “Am I close?”

“Yeah, pretty close. Hired gun yes, big crew sort of, retired - also sort of. I’m...on leave.” The words taste bitter coming out of his mouth and Michael seems to notice, raising an eyebrow.

“Not happy about it?”

“Not really.”

“Hm. Okay. I won’t pester I just wanted to know, if Gav’s gonna be here in a couple days and gets comfy, he’s going to want to ask a lot more. If you let him.” There was a slight smirk to Michael’s expression, fondness and exasperation in one. 

“And that doesn’t worry you?” Ryan can’t help but ask, seeing as Michael has just found out he’s in the room with a hired killer and intends to come back with, presumably, the most important person in the world to him and seems completely unphased. Luckily the question doesn’t seem to suddenly shake Michael to his senses, because the lad just looks over to Ryan with a careful eye.

“The way I see it, if you wanted to hurt us, you would have done it already. And if you’re playing some sort of game, we don’t have a way to get out of it anyway. But I don’t think you are. That’s just gotta be enough for now.” It was simple, almost brutally honest, and Ryan couldn’t help but appreciate Michael’s candor.

“If it helps, I’m trusting you too. My name, this place - My bosses would not be particularly pleased if they found out I’d let someone else know any of it.”

Michael’s lips twitched up into a grin, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. “Sounds like they’re not to pleased with you anyway, Rye. Might as well go all-out.” 

Fuck, if Ryan had been pushing aside thoughts of Michael’s attractiveness before, the gent couldn’t ignore it in that moment. The cocky grin, the encouragement of recklessness, the way he seemed to gain a flash of confidence enough to tease a confirmed murderer as if he’d been flirting with danger since he could identify it. 

Jones would drive the other gents mad if they met him, and Ryan almost wanted to see it. 

“I’m, uh, going to go make the bedroom so you can sleep.” The gent took a quick excuse to leave before that grin could convince him into trouble. Ryan knew, the same way he knew that blood spilled red and the smell of gunpowder, that he was never more than a polite shove away from his more dangerous impulses. 

He wanted to show Michael everything. He wanted to give him a match just to see what he would light with it. A loaded pistol just to see where he would aim it. As he thought, Ryan cleared the bed, making it with several spare blankets that had been kicked off numerous times and a collection of mismatched pillows. A few things had to be removed - the machete under the pillow, the handgun tucked into the bedframe. A reasonable person would probably try to lock the weapons away while a relative stranger was in the house where they planned on sleeping that night, but Ryan didn’t bother, instead setting the weapons in some sort of order in the closet.

The room was nice enough when it was clean - succulents dripping down from their pots or sitting in the windowsill, relatively bare besides the basic furniture but with a few books setting on the desk. Enough evidence someone was living there, at least. And comfortable enough to sleep in.

“Okay, it’s in...some sort of order. You can use the shower if you want” Ryan paused as Michael grabbed his bag, unhappy with the question but needing to ask it.

“What time will they come tomorrow?” 

“Since I’ve got another client? Probably early - eight to ten at the latest.” Michael tried to shrug it off, but it was clear he wasn’t happy with it either. A full day with a client who was already likely pissed that Michael had been ‘stolen’ from him the day before. 

“And the day after, I can call for both of you here?” It was as much a reassurance as a question from Ryan, and the lad seemed to relax a hair.

“Yeah. About that, actually - Can I make a request that might help us both out?” 

 

 

The night passes uneventfully, as Ryan takes up the couch and Michael takes Ryan’s room. He doesn’t bother trying to make some gesture of offering to take the couch - Ryan just doesn’t seem the type who will have that and besides. The room feels oddly safer, with plants and weapons and a fuckton of blankets and pillows. He sets the alarm on the nightstand - 7:00AM, just in case the fuckers show up early. He can’t risk pissing them off, not when they might be close to getting out.  
Ryan hasn’t told him any sort of plan, but that’s clearly where the man’s head is at. And stranger or no, murderer or no, Michael isn’t in the position to be turning his nose up at that sort of offer. Not for himself, and certainly not for Gavin. Has he considered that Ryan’s just playing them? Of fucking course he has. He’s been considering it since the first night - wondering if the ‘lost’ seeming John was a plant from their boss to test them.

But the guy seems way out of their Boss’s range, practically a battlefield unto himself and so damn genuine it makes Michael’s natural cynicism waver a bit. 

That, and Gavin trusted him. They’d only been able to talk about it in snippets, but the British lad was hoping he’d come by again so they could talk, or even for a quick break from the regular assholes they had to deal with. Both of them had so few comforting faces, and Ryan’s, even smeared with black face paint and occasionally getting that freaky fuckin’ look to his eyes when something awful got brought up, was a comforting face. 

He wished he could tell Gavin tonight that they might be safe by the end of the week. But even if he could, Michael wouldn’t - not until he was certain. There was nothing worse than a false sense of security, of safety, and he wouldn’t do that to the other lad. They’d already been through too much shit, Michael half expected the next shoe to drop would send Gavin off the edge. 

For now, all Michael had to do was make it through tomorrow.

At least he had one thing to look forward to.

They’d managed a quick breakfast before the car pulled up to the driveway - not the same beat up model from before but something a little sleeker. Michael recognized it, of course. His Boss’s. The client for today must have been one he wanted to keep in good graces despite the last minute time change, so he was going to deliver Michael himself. He pushed the anxiety down deep into his gut, glancing over at Ryan.

“You still good?” 

“If you are.” The response seemed almost hesitant, but Michael would have had to have been a fool not to see the light of desire that had sparked in the gent when he brought up his idea the night before. Ryan restrained himself well, it was a talent, but there was something in this for both of them.

There was a sharp knocking at the door, and on the other side all that could be heard was a low growl of irritation. Michael could feel it against the jumping pulse in his neck.

“It’s open.” Ryan’s voice alone seemed deadly in that moment and Michael could actually feel a shiver go down his spine, even though he knew he wasn’t in any danger.  
However, the sight that greeted his boss when he opened the door wouldn’t exactly convince him of that. Michael’s body was practically engulfed in Ryan’s, pressed hard against the wall and rendered motionless by knife balanced just a hair’s breadth away from his exposed chest. There was no blood aside from what had risen to his lips or the smattering of fresh hickeys on his neck, but he looked disheveled all the same. To his credit, Ryan didn’t even blush, barely even looked surprised when the unfamiliar figure stepped in, clearing his throat. He did, however, step back, snapping the knife closed and letting Michael sag slightly against the wall. 

“Here already?” He put on a good act, probably because it wasn’t entirely untrue that Ryan was unhappy to see him go. But this tone was more of a huff, as if the gent’s main concern was being interrupted. 

“My apologies. Can’t keep my other clients waiting.” The plural nearly made Michael flinch, but he kept it to himself. Fuck, he’d thought he’d only had to deal with one today. But Ryan was speaking already, going along with the ‘script’ as though he hadn’t noticed.

“When’s the next I can have him? And the other one - Gavin.” The gent shot a look over to Michael that would have been scorching if he didn’t know it was an act.

The boss didn’t seem to pick up on that, only smiling indulgently as if pretending to miss the threat. 

“Tomorrow, and I can have them here early. I appreciate your...loyal patronage, this will be three times this month.” 

Ryan only shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the bills, along with a little extra. It would hardly matter soon, if the Vagabond had his way, but he remembered Michael’s request from the night before quite clearly.

‘He needs to think that you’re like the other clients. That you want me, that you want Gavin, otherwise it’s gonna start raising flags. Better to look shameless than suspicious.’

Of course, Michael had thought that they would be seeing a driver who would pass along what they’d seen to the boss, rather than the man himself, but this was twice as effective. Ryan was a damn good actor, a thought cemented when Michael took a step towards the boss and Ryan yanked him back by a loop in his jeans, slipping the cash into his back pocket and brushing lips to his neck. 

After the quick exchange Ryan leaned in the doorway, grinning like he’d gotten what he wanted. 

“Three times you’re getting paid, seems like a win for both of us.” Talking as if Michael wasn’t even there, it almost stung with its familiarity. Of course, this wasn’t Ryan - He’d said goodbye to Ryan over breakfast.  
The boss laughed. “Seems like. You’ll have them both tomorrow. Enjoy your day.” With that, Michael was led from the house to the car waiting outside.

 

Ryan shut the door, leaned against the wall, and cursed until he’d run his vulgar vocabulary completely dry. 

He would see Michael and Gavin both tomorrow. They’d both be fine until then. 

The gent let out a breath, heading for the kitchen. Just as he turned on the sink to start cleaning up, the phone rang. Not one of his regular burners, but the one that only two people knew the number too. 

Geoff and Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay three days between chapters is not a standard I'm actually going to keep consistently but I have been in the mood to write this quite a bit so here it is!


	3. Golden

The timing couldn’t be worse, but what else was new? 

His bosses had a job for the Vagabond, because of course they did, the one day where he was explicitly busy with something important in the past couple of weeks. That said, he couldn’t exactly blame them, since Ryan hadn’t even come close to telling them what he’d been up to. By this point it was far too late. 

Not only was it bad timing, but it was also almost completely out of the Vagabond’s wheelhouse. A black tie event, a fancy fuckin’ dinner party, schmoozing and rubbing elbows with Los Santos’ elites. 

At least by the end of the night it would mean the end of Ryan’s murder break. One target - A rising star in the arms trade who’d snubbed Geoff and instead sold to a rival crew and seemed intent on continuing, seeming to barely acknowledge the Fakes. Few crew bosses would take kindly to such a slight, and Geoff was no exception. But neither he nor Jack could be there - their faces were at least somewhat familiar to the dealer, and would stand out in a crowd. Ryan, usually masked and painted, could slip in easily. Find a quiet place, lure the dealer there, take him out and leave before anyone noticed the missing guest. 

Stealth missions were not exactly Ryan’s favorite, but a crew-approved reprieve from self restraint was definitely a lure, and the gent had agreed to the job.

But he still had Michael and Gavin coming over that day. He didn’t want to risk leaving them alone at the safehouse, if someone came for them and he wasn’t there - 

He thought about bringing them with him. The two lads were excellent actors, they had little choice but to learn that particular skill and Ryan would only need to dip away from them for a moment to take out his target. The Vagabond was efficient, incredibly so, and this was a low-level job. 

Unfortunately, there was the small matter of Ryan’s ‘date’ to consider.

Kid seemed nice enough, at least. Ryan had met him, though only briefly. Short and stocky with a good smile, charming in a very personable way. Went by Jeremy or Rimmy, and had the trust of the Crew. Jack and Geoff seemed to have used his skills a couple times in the Vagabond’s absence and he’d proved competent. From what Ryan could glean, his main skillset was in burglary and ring fighting, but the two bosses had seen something in his personable attitude that might make him a good match for the Vagabond on more people-oriented missions. 

Ryan wasn’t so sure about all that, but nonetheless Jeremy would be coming by later that evening, and the Vagabond was going to need to think of some way to convince the boston born kid to keep his mouth shut about the two other guests who would already be at the safe house by the time he arrived. Intimidation was usually his go-to, but that seemed...inappropriate when Jeremy may soon enough be in the same crew as the Vagabond.

The phone rang, and Ryan had to restrain himself from cursing as he picked it up. The number was unfamiliar, but in a lifestyle full of burners and new contacts, he couldn’t afford to ignore it. However, he didn’t stop his pacing about the kitchen - in better shape now, plants watered and tables clean. Not only did he want to leave a better impression on Free and Jones when they spoke than he had the other day, but he also didn’t want to look so much of a wreck in front of a possible new crew member. 

“Hello, is this John?” The voice was vaguely familiar - Michael and Gavin’s boss. Ryan’s lip curled, but he responded smoothly nonetheless.

“Yes.”

“We may have a...complication, regarding your companionship today.” The line went quiet, it seemed that the boss was waiting for a response that didn’t come. Ryan let out a slow breath, but said nothing, waiting. 

“It’s really up to you, overall. Free of course is available, as promised, however Jones is not at his best, performance wise, right now. Generally we wouldn’t send Free on his own but I would hate to disappoint such a new and loyal customer.” The clear attempt at flattery falls on deaf ears as Ryan tries to clear his head, smothering his concern before it can betray him in his tone. 

“If it’s up to me, I want them both. What do you mean, ‘not at his best’?” 

“Ah, well-” The boss seems to be hesitating, and Ryan can’t help but take that as a bad sign, but he holds his tongue. “Jones has made clear that he’s willing to work today since he was already booked. But his performance with his clients yesterday, from what I’ve heard, was unsatisfactory and resulted in some sort of scuffle.” 

It sounds almost benign, put like that, but Ryan knows better. Each time he’s seen Michael the boy’s been injured in some way, and that wasn’t seen as needing any sort of notice. For this man to be giving Ryan any sort of forewarning, to be considering not having Michael work at all and seeming to be trying to nudge his client from spending his money, it had to be pretty bad. 

“If Jones thinks he’s able to work, he’s probably fine.” Ryan hates the dismissive scoff of his own voice, but it’s an act and he plays it well, if the boss’s response is anything to go by.

“Right, of course, no trouble then. They’ll both be arriving within the next couple hours.” 

“Good.” Ryan hangs up without another word, carefully setting the phone down before he can chuck it through a window. This is fine. This will be fine. He’s going to have to kill that man, but that’s also fine, because he’s more than earned it, and it seems likely as anything that no one will miss him. And even if they do, that’s not the Vagabond’s fucking problem any more than any of the other money-hungry, bloodthirsty, skeezy criminals and ceos and LSPD he’s put in the ground, turned to charcoal, or sent to the bottom of the ocean since fully embracing his current lifestyle. 

It’s really a good thing that his murder break ends tonight. 

Sure, Jack and Geoff probably don’t mean it like that, they probably mean ‘kill this one specific person and then go back on break’ but honestly, that’s just not sustainable right now. 

The Vagabond spends the next couple hours double checking that everything is in order for tonight - a nice crisp suit, courtesy of Geoff, a small arsenal of easily concealed weapons cleaned and loaded. Of course, if pushed the Vagabond could do this job without any outside weaponry, but he wouldn’t deprive himself of his tools unnecessarily. 

The sound of a car pulling up has Ryan stop, checking the window. He’s relieved to see that the vehicle is familiar - The last thing he needs right now is Jeremy coming early. The first time he waited, but there’s hardly any point now. Their boss has seen him, knows the address - it’s practically burned already. However the driver isn’t the boss this time - it’s the first car, the one that rattles and has rust along the bottom of the doors. The driver doesn’t even get out, but Michael and Gavin do, side by side with hardly an inch between them.

The door is open before they reach it, mostly because Michael’s movement is slow. He’s putting on a brave face, trying not to make a show of the way he’s leaning on Gavin for support. It isn’t until they’re inside and the door is shut behind them that Michael seems to sag, breathing out a curse under his breath before looking up to Ryan.

“Hey Rye. Thanks for uh...still wanting to see us.” His voice is raspy and Ryan nearly flinches, taking a quick stock of the lad. It’s hard to tell exactly how bad he’s hurt under the clothes, but what’s visible is bad enough. Like Gavin that first night, there’s dark bruising around his throat, like someone’s tried to take the life out of him and only barely stopped short. He’s got a black eye on his left and there’s a jagged graze on his cheek, like he’s been slammed into something. 

“C’mon, lets get you to the couch -” Ryan takes the other side of Michael, leading him deeper into the living room with Gavin helping, shooting Ryan side glances that seem to flash with worry the moment Ryan’s hands are on Michael. Once Michael’s somewhat settled, Ryan breathes out.

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say. What happened, are you okay, both reasonable questions if Ryan didn’t already more or less know the answers. At the moment, useless, and Michael gives a half-smile as if he’s trying to put the gent at ease.

“I’m uh, I’m gonna be fine.” It’s not exactly reassuring the way his voice sounds and Ryan shakes his head, glancing to the kitchen. 

“I’m going to make you some tea or something, hold on.” It’s all Ryan can think to do, some of his ‘southern hospitality’ picking up where ‘The Vagabond’ isn’t all that well suited to leave off. Gavin moves closer to Michael, and they seem to whisper something to each other before Gavin is following him into the kitchen, steps barely making a sound as he moves into the room. 

Ryan’s already working on heating up some water in the microwave before Gavin speaks up, just loud enough to be heard.

“Ryan? Me an’ Michael haven’t really...gotten to talk, about the day before.” Ryan glances over, uncertain where to go with that besides listen. Gavin looks uncomfortable at best, stealing glances back to the living room every few moments as if to make sure Michael was still okay. 

“But he wanted to come today, even - like this, when he should be resting, and I know he thinks it’s safe here, with you, and I wanna believe that but if you need somethin’ I can take care of it-”

“Gavin.” Ryan has to cut in, Gavin’s voice is starting to wobble and it’s breaking his fucking heart -so there’s some proof he still has one- and he needs to reassure this guy before he starts actually breaking down. 

“I brought both of you here to talk, nothing’s going to hurt either of you here, least of all me, okay? I know that’s hard to trust, but I want to help.” The microwave timer goes off and Ryan busies himself getting out the tea bag, doctoring it with probably too much honey and not looking at Gavin, trying to give the lad time to process what he’s said without interruption. Instead, he feels arms wrap tight around his waist and the press of a body against his.

“Sorry, thank you, I just. I got scared.” It’s a weak admission, spoken softly like he half doesn’t want Ryan to hear, but he does. When Gavin pulls away he gives a little smile, though his eyes are still a bit teary. 

“It’s okay, I know all this is happening fast. And I wish I could tell you things were going to slow down, but - Well, let's take this to Michael, okay?” Ryan almost doesn’t want to tell them that things are about to get even more complicated in the next few hours, but they need time to prepare and come up with some semblance of a plan. They head to the living room and Ryan carefully hands over the mug with a quiet “It’s hot, wait on it for a bit” before sitting a little away from the two of them, trying to get his thoughts in order.

Gavin is at Michael’s side in a moment, ever careful of his injuries but still snuggled as close as possible. It seems natural for them, and Ryan can feel a sort of fondness settle in his chest, comfortable knowing they’re both safe and sound. Michael begins sipping the tea slowly and it seems to relax him somewhat, even as he coughs a couple times his voice slowly seems to be getting back to normal as he and Gavin murmur a couple things to each other.

Eventually though, Ryan has to be cognizant of the time, and looks over the two of them. 

“So, I talked to Michael, but I didn’t want to go...too far into things without the both of you here, because I’m willing to assume whatever decision you make will be together. I want to help you be done with this, and to be safe. I know you don’t know me very well, but I can tell you I’m...good at what I do, and I can help get rid of your boss, and the people who would try to come after you in his stead, if there are any. Until then I can help you both stay hidden, and if you want, teach you a few useful skills to keep yourselves safe with or without me.”

Ryan would be lying if he said he didn’t rehearse parts of that, but even so he’s sure he’s forgotten pieces, hasn’t delivered it quite as perfectly as he did to the potted Echeveria in his room, but it’ll have to do. Michael’s expression is one he can’t quite place, sighing and speaking up.

“I hate to be the asshole who asks this, but what are you getting out of this? We’re already in debt for someone else ‘helping us out’ - Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re telling the truth and I don’t feel like you’re trying to fuck us over, but that’s a pretty grand offer for someone who’s not getting anything out of this.”

There’s the part Ryan hasn’t rehearsed, because he’s got no good answer. Los Santos isn’t the kind of place where the excuse of ‘I’m just trying to do a good thing’ has any legs. The Vagabond’s been here long enough to know that, and Michael and Gavin have first hand experience to know better too. But he can’t exactly lie, either - Not with these two watching him, intent as a couple of fledgling hawks - not sure if the man in front of them is a protector or a predator, not yet strong enough to defend themselves. But they could be. Given a little time, a little practice, they could be capable of something truly devastating.

“Peace of mind? I mean, briefly at least - Look, I know that’s not the most believable thing in the world, especially with the shit you’ve been through, but I would really feel a lot better if your boss were dead just sort of on principle, and knowing the two of you are safe - Or, you know, safe as it gets here, and you both seem more than capable of making a life here if you wanted it, with some training -” 

Ryan’s rambling and he knows it, nearly incapable of biting his tongue. Gone is the masked Vagabond, silent and menacing and oh so intimidating with a black skull glaring back at his target. Here it’s just Ryan Haywood, trying to convince two people who barely know him to trust him.

He sees Gavin smile.

It’s an almost accidental thing, the lads are pressed up against each other and listening to him ramble and Gavin’s got one of his hands resting on Michael’s leg, gently tracing patterns on his jeans, and his whole body seems to have relaxed. His eyes catch onto the gent’s and Ryan stops, breathing out a sigh but feeling a tug on his own lips as well. It’s almost infectious, Gavin’s smile, and there’s a risk that Ryan could get used to that. 

“I think we can trust him, Michael.” Gavin’s voice is gentle, and Michael takes another long drink of the warm tea, leaning against his companion. 

“I think so too. I just wanted to make sure. Sorry Rye.” 

“It’s okay, I’d really have trouble trusting someone that easy too. This place - trustworthy people are kinda few and far between.” Ryan himself only knows a handful, and he’s been working here a long time. Granted, he doesn’t try to get close to most people unless it’s work-related, which usually means a bullet and a gravestone rather than a heart-to-heart, but the point stands. 

“So what now?” It’s Michael who asks, wincing and coughing after he does. Gavin looks over worriedly, but Michael’s quick to wave it off and drink from his mug again.

“Now, I try to come up with some semblance of a plan to convince a new coworker not to tell our mutual bosses about just how many basic rules I’ve broken, and keep the two of you safe while I take care of a job for them.” The words come out with slightly more stress than Ryan intends to betray, and he gets a sympathetic look from Gavin and a snort from Michael.

“Why tell him you broke any rules? If you’re worried he’s a snitch, keep ‘im in the dark.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t, except he’s probably going to notice other people here and that’s one broken by itself. I thought about taking the two of you somewhere else, but time’s not really in our favor and I don’t want to risk you being in danger while I’m gone.” 

Michael’s got one of those looks that Ryan can’t get a read on again, brow furrowed slightly, looking more through Ryan than at him. But it’s Gavin that speaks, his tone almost...concerned.

“They’re that strict?” And, oh, right, Gavin doesn’t - Doesn’t exactly know what Ryan does. Michael’s got some idea, though he doesn’t know the specifics. That Ryan is more than just one of hundreds of hired guns in this city, that he has a certain kind of reputation that puts a much larger target on his back than most. 

“It’s a precaution, a reasonable one, considering-” Ryan looks to Michael, almost wishing the other lad had filled Gavin in beforehand so Ryan wouldn’t need to. Somehow it felt easier with Michael, either because of the man’s blunt nature or his seeming familiarity with violence. Despite everything that Gavin has clearly been through, he still seems soft around the edges and Ryan doesn’t want to freak him out after they’ve just established some degree of trust.

“What I do comes with a lot of enemies. Laying low is something of a necessity, between jobs, and safehouses like this aren’t supposed to have visitors outside of work. Too much risk.” They’re familiar rules, ones which have always been easy to follow up until now. 

“So we just need to convince this guy to keep quiet?” Michael’s tone is musing now, though there’s a harder edge underneath of it that feels familiar. Gavin’s gone quiet, looking over Ryan with a dozen questions in his eyes but keeping them locked behind his teeth, at least until the more immediate details are hashed out.

“Pretty much, yeah. At least until this whole situation is a little more settled.” 

“Okay. Leave him here with us and we’ll talk to him.” Michael spoke so simply, so straightforward, that Ryan almost didn’t process it. “If the boss shows up, he’s just a buddy of yours - It happens.” If it had been anyone else, Ryan would have assumed the offer was a threat on Jeremy’s life, and even now he wasn’t entirely sure where Michael’s confidence was coming from. 

Before he could answer, the sound of tires in the driveway caught up to him and the gent groaned softly, straightening up and standing from his spot.

“Well, let’s see if we can work something out.” 

The man who hopped out of the atrociously painted car - purple with orange accents, an eyesore that had to draw far more attention than it was worth - was dressed in a sleek black suit, his hair a little ruffled but still somehow looking perfectly in place. He looked far more put together than the first time Ryan had met him, a moment between jobs where Geoff had all but shoved the two of them together to make sure they could recognize each other on sight ‘To avoid any incidents’. 

“Hey there Vagabond. You about ready?” 

“About. There’s a bit of a hiccup with the plan we’re going to need to smooth out.” Ryan’s voice was calm, eyes watching Jeremy’s expression almost clinically, but he was already tense. He barely knew this kid, what made him tick, and he didn’t have a whole lot of time to find out. 

“Right, okay, what’s up?”

“I picked up a couple of...potential trainees, just a couple days ago. One of ‘em is real messed up right now, got into a bad fight.” Ryan picks his words carefully, all too aware that the two lads inside are listening in to the conversation - Gavin’s slight frame is just a few steps to the right on the inside of the house and Michael is listening as well as he can from the couch.

Jeremy, to his credit, looks concerned, trying to peer into the safehouse but not so much as to move the Vagabond out of his line of sight. 

“Sorry to hear that, they gonna be okay?” 

“Should be, with a bit of rest. But I’m worried someone might be able to track him down here while I’m out on this job.” It’s not a lie, not most of it. The ‘trainees’ part, sure, but the rest of it tracks along with the truth. “Here, come on in, we’ll talk.” Ryan finally steps out of the way, and Gavin is quick to move back towards the couch before Jeremy can catch a glimpse of his eavesdropping. He knows how to move quiet as anything, Ryan will give him that.

  

“Oh, uh, hey guys.” The two figures curled nearly entwined with each other on the couch are unfamiliar. One is lankier, and clearly in better shape at the moment as he bends to get a look at Jeremy. The other doesn’t move as eagerly, clearly more injured and bundled in blankets with a steaming mug in his hands. 

It’s an odd encounter - Jeremy wasn’t expecting to see anyone but the Vagabond, the guy isn’t exactly known for being social. But these aren’t just friends over to visit, they’re ‘trainees’, apparently. Jeremy isn’t entirely sure what that means, but he’s well versed in keeping his mouth shut when he’s unsure of something so that people don’t know what he doesn’t know. It keeps strangers from guessing just how new he is to this whole business. 

Ryan looks unperturbed, sitting just a bit away from the two and gesturing for Jeremy to take a seat. 

“So, introduction time, except not really because we’ve got, oh, about twenty minutes before we need to be heading to this asshole’s party and more important details to talk about. Rimmy, meet the guys who don’t have code names yet because we haven’t figured out that far ahead.”

“You know what, not gonna ask. What’s the plan?” Clearly, the guy who looks like he lost a fight with an entire gang isn’t leaving this place any time soon, and trainee or not the skinny guy next to him doesn’t exactly strike Jeremy as the ‘bodyguard’ type, if that’s what the Vagabond is worried about. 

“Right now? Plan is you stay here and keep them safe while I go take care of the job, come back, we split the heist cut 50/50 anyway and keep anyone else out of it.” The Vagabond’s tone is matter-of-fact, and Jeremy all but winces. Okay, so Geoff and Jack definitely don’t know about this. That’s not great. Not to mention - 

“I cannot in good conscious let you do that. You’re supposed to have someone watching your back at this thing, help work with the people. I’ve been...informed that’s not really your thing.” It’s dangerous territory, skirting the line of implying that the Vagabond might be incapable of doing the job on his own, but they’re more or less part of the same crew and Jeremy’s pretty sure he’s not going to get himself in too much hot water saying it. 

The other two on the couch are whispering to each other, barely loud enough to be noticed, certainly not enough to be understood. At least until the blond speaks up, looking at the Vagabond. 

“If Rimmy can stay with ‘im, I can come with. I’m good with people, and M - He needs someone here who can take care of trouble if it comes.” It’s clear from the way that the blond keeps looking over to the other man that they’re not entirely happy being split up, but he looks like a stiff breeze could push him over. If the Vagabond is actually worried that someone might come for the more injured man, he’s going to need some muscle, and Jeremy’s well versed in that line of work. Except that’s not the job Geoff and Jack ordered him to do. In fact, he’s been kind of explicitly ordered to keep an eye on the Vagabond, to make sure that not only he’s safe but that he doesn’t get them into an unnecessary trouble. 

However, he’s not actually supposed to say that out loud, and they didn’t exactly prepare him for this sort of situation where it seems like a complete dick move to say no and try to stick to the original plan, potentially leaving a new recruit or two in serious danger when he could be helping. 

“I guess that’ll work, just - fuck, okay, can we all just make an agreement then that this stays between the four of us? Because I’m really not supposed to bail on this one.” 

Ryan’s already nodding, and there seems to be a pleased look hiding behind the mug of tea in the other man’s hands. Seems like, for now at least, lying is the best option for everyone involved. Jeremy probably should have guessed as much from the get-go, but he can’t help but be relieved. 

“You’re going to need some nicer clothes though, whatever your name is. Actually, tonight you can go by Nicholas, ‘cause that’s what’s on the invite. It’s a real fancy dinner thing - There’s this place along the way, should be able to get something quick, it’s where I grabbed mine…” 

 

The details get hashed out between Jeremy’s help and Gavin’s nodding, writing down a few quick instructions on a slab of sticky notes as Ryan slips into his bedroom to change. He’s glad that Jeremy didn’t try to fight him on this - though bringing Gavin and leaving Michael wasn’t his ideal outcome, it seems to be what’s worked out. Jeremy’s willing to drop the mission to help protect another potential ally, but he’s not going to let the Vagabond work alone as per Geoff and Jack’s insistence. Michael and Gavin aren’t eager to be split up, but they trust Ryan enough and Jeremy enough by proxy that it’s the safest solution for everyone involved. 

It’s messy, and there’s a lot of careful faith being extended in all directions. It feels far too delicate, but Ryan is simply hoping it will hold through the night. He glances into the mirror, breathing out slowly and examining the suit, well-tailored, per Geoff’s insistence. It looks passable, even good, the glint of gold on his watch catching the light as he turns, checking for anything amiss. His hair’s been dyed back to blond, at least for now, and he takes a few long moments to twist it back in the braided pattern that Jack taught him. It edges a little on the hippy side, but Ryan will take it, anything to make his appearance less reminiscent of a threat.

By the time he re-enters the living room, Gavin seems to have gotten himself as ready as he can be - hair combed into what Ryan can only describe as stylish chaos and a few touches of makeup that Ryan can point out. Mostly, it’s concealer hiding the healing bruises but there’s a more stylistic turn as well, with hints of gold around his eyes. 

“You think it’s too much?” Gavin is looking into a small mirror, checking carefully. Michael’s leaning on his shoulder, watching with mild interest as though he’s seen it a hundred times, but it’s Jeremy who reassures him. 

“Nah, it’s a fancy rich people thing, they’ll love that shit. You’re pretty good at it too.” He sounds impressed, and Ryan can’t help but agree. 

A glance in the mirror tips Gavin off and he turns, looking at Ryan. He looks a bit nervous, but straightens up and puts on a smile. It’s immediately clear what Jeremy’s was getting at - Gavin looks like he could fit right into the socialite club, even in his simple button down and skinny jeans.  
“Ready?”

“Yeah, we should head out soon to make sure we can get a new outfit in time - Thanks, again Rimmy. We’ll be back in a few hours.” The promise is made to Jeremy, but Ryan catches Michael’s eye as well and the lad gives a small nod. He’s still leaning on Gavin, one hand rested on the man’s arm until Gavin moves, pressing a swift kiss to Michael’s cheek before getting up. 

“See you soon boi.” 

“See ya soon. Have fun rubbing elbows and eating tiny sandwiches or whatever.” 

It’s only as they’re walking out the door does the quiet memory hit the Vagabond full force - That Gavin doesn’t work alone. The door shuts behind them and Gavin breathes out, a little shaky, before straightening his shoulders again and glancing to Ryan.

“So. Two questions. First, what do you do, second, what are we going to do?”

“That’s...kind of the same question.” Ryan stalls as he unlocks the Banshee, opening the door for Gavin to step into the passenger’s side. The lad rolls his eyes but gets in, and Ryan takes perhaps longer than strictly necessary to get into the driver’s seat. It’s not like he can avoid the question forever, and he’s not even really sure why he’s trying to. Shame hasn’t been part of the equation for a long time, and it’s not like Gavin’s going to turn him in. It’s just. Fuck, he doesn’t want to freak this guy out, not with everything he’s been through, not when things are still so complicated. But he needs to know what he’s getting himself into.

“Starting off, we’re going to get you an appropriate outfit from that address Rimmy gave you.” The engine of the car comes to life with a low purr, and Ryan starts backing out, not looking at Gavin even as he’s tempted to steal a peek from the mirror. 

“Then we’re going to go to this fancy party, introduce ourselves as James and Nicholas Walker- it’s a ‘mixer’, a place for people to make deals and make friends. Extra-legal, naturally. If anyone asks in detail, we’re buyers, new to Los Santos - Should work pretty well for you, actually.” Gavin’s nodding, clearly taking in the details, though Ryan can feel him glancing over every few moments as if waiting for Ryan to quit stalling and get to whatever they were covering for. Or maybe he’s just imagining that part. 

“I’ll be at your side for most of it, but once a good moment comes up I’ll excuse myself and you’ll need to mingle on your own for a bit, cover for me if anyone asks - they shouldn’t, but just in case. I got an important call - sick kid, business matters, whatever seems least likely to interest them.”

“Okay, I can do that.” Gavin seems confident, but he’s still giving Ryan side glances. The gent sighs, pulling to a stop light and looking over.  
“There’s a guy at this party that my bosses want dead. Don’t worry, it’s not going to be a big scene, they’re not looking for a messy statement. I’ll be out of sight for a bit, take care of it, and then come back. We’ll mingle a little longer and then it’s back to the house, safe and sound.” 

The sight of the familiar tailor where Ryan had gotten his suit was a welcome one, but as he parked in the drive he let the car idle a moment, looking over to Gavin. The lad had gone quiet, and Ryan could feel a rising sense of worry in his chest. He didn’t want to push the man into anything he couldn’t handle, and spoke quietly.

“If it’s too much, I can set you up in a hotel, something. Fake name, pay cash, no one will find you. I’ll pick you up on the way back and we don’t need to mention it again.” Sure, it would mean lying to Jeremy, but Ryan was fairly confident the job could be managed solo. And if Gavin didn’t feel safe doing it - 

“No, I want to come.” The words were steady, and Gavin’s expression went from somber to a more relaxed expression, looking back to Ryan. “You’re already doing a lot for us, and I want to help. Thanks for letting me know.”

Ryan breathed out, taking a moment to let the tension in his body fall. He still wasn’t sure if Gavin was letting himself entirely process the situation, but he wasn’t going to press the point. Much as he’d promised it, he wouldn’t have felt entirely safe leaving Gavin anywhere without protection, better to have the lad at his side in the lion’s den rather than out in the wilderness of Los Santos alone. It was paranoia, certainly, but in the Vagabond’s experience it was well-earned.

“We’re going to have to go through this fast, but speak up if something doesn’t fit right - the people at this party will notice nonsense like that.” The advice was spoken as Ryan shut off the banshee, taking the key and stepping out before leading Gavin up to the tailor’s shop.

It was a place of understated opulence, small and tucked into a corner between a dry cleaners and a liquor store. A gated door with a buzzer and a camera greeted them, and Ryan gave a quick wave and a flash of a smile. The gate clicked and the two were allowed in, Gavin holding onto Ryan’s arm as if it was natural. 

“James, it's good to see you again, and who is this?” The store owner was an old friend of Geoff’s, tight lipped on gossip with a penchant for detail. Ryan’s boss wasn't the only gang leader to make business here, and it paid to be precise and discreet.

“He’ll be accompanying me tonight for the event, Nick wasn't feeling well enough to go unfortunately.” The clear dodge of the question is accompanied by an almost apologetic smile, made softer by Ryan’s well groomed appearance. 

“I know it's short notice, but after my own experience I couldn't go anywhere else.” It pays to compliment and the tailor laughs, waving his hand. 

“Of course, lets see what we can do.” He leads Gavin off and Ryan trails somewhat awkwardly behind, not wanting to leave the lad alone with a stranger but keeping out of the way as the tailor takes measurements, murmuring about brands that Ryan doesn't recognize and styles he’s probably heard of and forgotten. 

Gavin deals with the rush as well as he can, staying quiet and only beginning to stir as the process seems to slow and the tailor is out of sight, searching out some particular jacket. 

“Ryan.” His voice is practically a whisper, fingers fidgeting in quick movements over a pair of cufflinks he’s been asked to hold onto. One wrong move and it looks like he might accidentally launch them across the room, but Ryan certainly isn't going to take them. 

“Yes?” The gent responds with equal quiet, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on Gavin’s arm. 

“I'm nervous.” It's a quick confession, and Gavin doesn't look up as he says it, or as he continues. “What if I say the wrong thing, or someone doesn't believe me, or-"

“Gavin.” The tailor’s steps are heading back this way, but Ryan’s voice is unhurried. “You're going to be just fine. A fancy suit and a smile, that’s all you have to show them. They'll fill in the rest on their own.” 

Gavin sems to relax a bit at that, breathing out just as the tailor comes back with a select few sets, ushering Gavin towards a small dressing room. Two end up fitting near perfect, only needing a few minor adjustments on each. One is a near identical match to Ryan’s own, the other has a bit more flash in the form of gold-glimmering threads through to black seams and pockets.

“If we had a bit more time I could go through the catalog for some appropriate pieces to go with it, but-" The tailor is looking Gavin over, critical eye only seeming matched by Gavin’s own, examining himself for any detail out of place. 

“We don't, unfortunately, but I think it'll more than pass - What do you think?” Ryan manages to catch Gavin’s eye in the mirror.

“I like it.” A tug of a smile is pulling on the lad’s expression now and Ryan is quick to meet it, nodding to the tailor. In the mirror, Ryan sees his watch - gold, matching better with Gavin’s ensemble than his own. 

“Here, see how this works.” Ryan unfastens the watch before taking Gavin’s hand, touch light as he’s careful not to pinch any skin in the fasten as he’d done the first couple times to himself. Gavin twists his wrist to see it, looking back to the mirror. Ryan’s not an expert, but it seems to match, and the tailor gives a little hum that sounds like approval.

“Are you sure you don’t want it?” There’s a bit of caution in Gavin’s tone and Ryan waves it off quickly. 

“It’s just for the night, and besides, I think I have something in the car for myself. It matches you better.” The logic of that seems to soothe Gavin a bit, and Ryan flashes him a quick smile before glancing back to the tailor.

“I think we’re ready, can’t afford to be late for this one.”

“Alright, I'll have it on the collective tab then?”

“Make it a seperate one, I wouldn't ask the boss for a second one after Nick’s. Thank you, I'm sure I'll be seeing you sometime soon.”

Gavin’s old clothes are folded carefully and placed in a bag and Ryan carries them out to the car as Gavin keeps pace at his side. He’s been quiet almost the entire time in the store, and only speaks up after the door is shut and the engine is on once more.

“I know I said this before but...thank you Ryan, I know this is a lot, an’ me and Michael will find a way to pay you back after all this.”

“You don't have to.” The words are quick, Ryan doesn't want Gavin to feel like he’s being trapped by some sort of debt - that isn't what this is about.

  

“I know. But that's why I want to. Both of us do.” Gavin knows, much as he still tries to keep up some degree of caution around Ryan, that he trusts him. Even confirming what he’d already kind of guessed - That Ryan was a killer, a hired one at that - he still felt safe with him. It was kind of fucked up, but what else was new? 

Ryan had gone out of their way already to help them, keeping them safe from their boss in whatever way he could and now offering them a way out. He’d compromised his own plans, his own job to make sure Michael was being protected. And he had initially meant to leave Gavin home with him, going the job alone. He was glad Rimmy had said something then, because it would have been harder for Gavin to do it.

And now he was buying Gavin expensive clothes and trying to keep him calm and confident and it felt good, being valued like that. The only other person who really did that for Gavin now was Michael, and his boi seemed to trust Ryan too. The fact that he hadn't raised Hell at the idea of Gavin going alone with Ryan was a good indicator of that. It was hard to earn that kind of trust from Michael, and once it was tarnished the other lad could hold a grudge better than anyone Gavin had ever known. 

The drive was quick, made faster by backroads and a speedometer that might have made Gavin a bit nervous if he paid closer attention to such things. They were well into Vinewood by the time the mansion came into view, ivory columns with fairy lights wrapped around them like vines, gold balloons twisted around each other in strategically placed bunches conveniently leading the car up to a valet. 

“Here.” Ryan's voice cut through Gavin’s thoughts, and a cold touch of metal pressed into his hand. It was a simple gold band, and in the low lights of the car Gavin could see a match on Ryan’s ring finger. He quickly slipped it on, noticing the fit was a bit off. Gavin would have to be careful not to lose it.  
“Nicholas and James Walker, buyers, recently moved in.” Ryan’s voice was low and almost soothing, repeating the short set of details. It’s not a whole lot to go on, but then, that seems like the point. Easy to remember, not enough of a web to get trapped in.

“Got it.” Ryan smiles over at him, and Gavin can almost feel himself relaxing. The valet walks up and Ryan steps out, walking around to Gavin’s side and opening his door as well before handing over the key. 

“Shall we?” The flourish is a bit over the top as Ryan takes Gavin’s hand, but from the handful of glances and murmurs from the small gathering nearby it seems to go over well. Privately, Ryan winks, and Gavin has to stifle a laugh. It feels like a play, or like a dance, too which Ryan has rehearsed and Gavin firmly has not. But he follows along as gracefully as he can, brushing a quick kiss to Ryan’s cheek as they walk towards the open doors. 

  

Inside, there are gleaming lights and what feels like hundreds of guests, chatter weaving its way into the cool night air and the clink of ice against glasses. A gathering of Los Santos’ most extravagant criminals, deals being made in air thick with perfume and the smell of champagne. Among them, the infamous Vagabond in the guise of a newcomer, with a partner as his side who looked as though he belonged amongst these people, shimmering with glints of gold and a bashful smile. 

Into the lion’s den, indeed.


	4. Lion's Den

They moved through the room with ease, fingers laced together in a show of companionship and a lifeline in the crowd. Gavin couldn’t help that his gaze lingered on unfamiliar faces, elegant jewelry and devious smiles. One woman caught his gaze before he could look away, and Gavin’s grip tightened on Ryan as she murmured something to her date and began moving towards them, closing the gap of only a few feet. She was certainly pretty, near-white blonde with peach-tinted lips and an understated rose gold necklace. 

“Well, you’re new here aren’t you?” Her voice was smooth, and Ryan stopped, turning and offering a charming smile.

“We are, yes. It’s James, and this is”

“Nicholas, it’s nice to meet you love.” Gavin put on his best sultry smile, leaning a bit into Ryan even as his gaze lingered. The woman almost seemed to blush, glancing back to the figure she’d left before lowering her tone.

“Aster, and the pleasure is mine. What brought the two of you to Los Santos?” The question addresses both of them, but her eyes don’t leave Gavin. He lets himself be pulled into the easy, coded conversation, sticking to the loose details Ryan gave him. That they’d come for business, mostly as buyers - 

“And beaches are a bonus, it’s so dreary back home…” He can feel Ryan’s hand on his, gently squeezing in reassurance, but the gent doesn’t look the least bit worried about Gavin fucking this up. If anything, he seems relaxed and comfortable letting Gavin take the lead on the conversation. Eventually, Aster’s date comes back over, a slim man with dark hair and similar charm who quietly murmurs something to her and she smiles apologetically. 

“Sorry to cut this short, other business.” 

“No worries love, another time.” The two of them vanish back into the crowd and Ryan pulls him to a quieter corner near a table of drinks, murmuring barely over the buzz of the room so that Gavin can hear.

“You’re a natural.” The words create a warm glow in Gavin’s chest and he looks over to Ryan, noticing the hints of a grin on the man’s lips. He seems pleased, and Gavin can’t help but take pride in that - The party is out of his element, sure, but talking to people? Making himself likeable, interesting, capturing attention - it’s what he does. Honestly, it’s the more pleasant part of what he does, most of the time. 

“A professional.” Gavin corrects in a breath, leaning so he’s close to Ryan’s cheek as another gaze catches on the two of them, and he winks. Ryan’s not entirely wrong though. Gavin was a bit of a flirt back home too, he liked the attention, the affection, even if it was fleeting. And people liked him, liked his smile, liked his inane ramblings. That or they got sick of him, sometimes both in varying orders. He tries not to linger on the thought. Ryan’s touch on him is still gentle, an arm wrapped around his waist as the gent leans closer to his ear, voice soft.

“Either way, thank you.” He sounded so genuine, so appreciative and Gavin could feel the warmth settling in his chest as he leaned up and brushed a kiss to Ryan’s cheek.

“Any time.”

 

An hour passes like that, with easy conversation, most of which Gavin leads. Ryan contributes, mostly doting tones like the adoring husband role he played and a bit of business conversation, dancing around contracts rather than committing. It didn’t stand out as strange - it seems to be the norm, in fact, and from what Ryan’s heard that’s fairly standard. Mixers like these are meant to feel people out, get a sense for who might be pleasant or unpleasant to work with and who they were connected to rather than a place for making outright contracts. That came later, when the hangovers wore off and the memories lingered.

He found himself stealing glances either from the watch on Gavin’s wrist or the ornate clock on the north wall, taking more time to carefully scan the room between conversations as the hour drew near. His target was chatting with a larger group, gesturing grandly with champagne nearly spilling each time, but only nearly. He wasn’t the host, but he was the type of guest whom everyone wanted a moment with - arms dealers were popular like that. 

Most the people in the building sold death in some form or another. Whether it was slow and drawn out between moments of ecstasy or neatly wrapped with a bow and wiped of fingerprints, most of their business had the same end result. But arms dealers were much more direct - the bullets in the chamber, quite literally. Ammunition, high powered weapons, even some ready-made explosives - the kind of stuff you couldn’t risk having a name attached to when they inevitably ended up buried in some fucker’s corpse. Or couldn’t buy at all on the market, even in Los Santos some stuff just didn’t stock on civilian shelves. 

All in all, they were good to have as friends, and a nightmare to have as enemies. Since this guy was quickly fitting into category two, he couldn’t be allowed to continue polluting the Fake’s reputation, or potentially giving the advantage to competing crews. 

Frankly, the Vagabond would have taken just about any target right now, but he could definitely see why this guy was a priority. As the crowd starts to disperse Ryan gives Gavin’s hand a quick squeeze, breaking the man’s concentration on his current conversation partners. 

“Sorry to interrupt. Nick, I've got a work call coming in, I'll meet you back by the champagne table in a bit alright?” It's spoken with doting affection, even allowing a hint of worry to slip. It seems natural enough, to feel some guilt at leaving one’s partner alone at a party, even if Ryan’s own concern is a bit more complex. 

Gavin nods, letting his hand go and giving a reassuring smile.

“Of course love, don't let it keep you too long.” Gavin turns back to the couple, a fond exasperation in his tone. “He works so hard, you know -" Ryan doesn't catch the end of it, as he slips away among the crowd. He does glance back and notices that Gavin’s gaze is on him for a moment before shifting back to the couple, who look to him with sympathy and seem to offer some kind of condolence. 

He’s good at this. Ryan can’t let himself linger on the thought too long, eyes tracking the arms dealer as he weaves his way through the crowd, phone out as if he was reading a message in glances. But it’s true. Gavin seemed to brush it off as part of his profession, but there’s a natural charm there. He draws people in like breathing, and they covet his attention. More importantly than that, they believe him, at least it seems that way from what Ryan’s seen. A place like this is full of good actors and keen eyes, and yet no one seems to double-check ‘Nicholas’ when he’s mourning the lack of excitement back across the pond or gushing about the new opportunities here in Los Santos, nor do they blink when he shows easy affection towards his ‘husband’ as though they’d been comfortable with each other for years.

If they really were here to make deals, Ryan has a feeling that Gavin would likely excel in that as well. Half the battle was getting the person on the other end to like you, or at least tolerate you, and that’s never really been the Vagabond’s forte. He’s much better skilled in the more direct forms of negotiation.

The thought flits through his head as the arms dealer slips into an empty hallway, a reprieve from the noise outside. Ryan holds the phone to his ear, nodding every once in a while but keeping quiet aside from murmuring affirmations as he follows, making sure his eyes don’t linger on the target. The man glances back to him but seems unperturbed, leaning on one of the doors and taking a long drag from the champagne glass in his hand until it runs dry. 

“Long night already?” Ryan’s voice is a hint sympathetic, pocketing the phone after a goodbye to no one and offering a crooked smile. 

“And even longer to go. Waste of all of our time, but it pays to play nice. What about you? Don’t recognize you.” The voice is gruff, looking Ryan up and down. It’s odd, knowing that between the fancy suit and the loosely braided hair and the overall atmosphere Ryan hardly looks intimidating at all. It shows on the dealer’s expression, a cocky smirk as he settles back. It’s useful, but he’ll be happy to be done with it sooner than later.

“Just moved to the island, decided to make some partners early. Heard you’re a good one to have.” It’s easy to feed the man’s ego, and Ryan notices the way the man straightens a little, shrugging.

“Only if you’re into climbing the ladder. Willing to get your hands dirty.” It’s a test, shrewd eyes waiting for a flinch that doesn’t come.

“Didn’t move here for the scenery. Why don’t we talk proper business? No one else here seems interested, but if we can both walk away with something this might actually be worth it.” It’s a hook, baited with flattery and the potential of revenue. If the dealer doesn’t take it, Ryan’s going to have to risk that the hallway is far enough, that the crowd is loud enough - 

“Tell you what. Bring me back a fresh glass and we’ll go ahead and talk shop.” He holds out his empty glass and Ryan takes it, smothering the urge to scowl before it can find its way onto his face or into his eyes. To this man, he’s a rookie, and that means garnering favor in whatever little ways he can. And for the dealer, it’s an easy way to make clear that he’s the one running the show, setting up for a table that’s loaded in his favor. 

It won’t matter in about, oh, ten minutes, so Ryan heads back to the table, taking a glass of champagne and setting the old one down by the collection of empty glasses, growing quite large by this point. Gavin brushes up against him, his voice quiet.

“Everything alright?” 

“Of course. I’ll be just a little longer.” It’s as good a clue as any that the job’s not done and Gavin nods, brushing a kiss to Ryan’s cheek and moving away, striking up a chat as Ryan heads back to the quiet hallway. It’s only for a moment, but as he turns he can see another figure with his eyes on Gavin, interest peaking in his expression. He looks like one of the wealthier attendants - probably familiar with most the guests. Ryan can’t afford to worry about that, Gavin’s been keeping well on his toes so far, he can handle one more.

He heads back to the arms dealer, part of him relieved that the figure is still there. The door is cracked open now, and Ryan hands over the glass.

“Thanks, uhm -”  
“James.”  
“Yeah. Wilson. Looks like the study’s unlocked, good a place as any to chat without being bothered.” It’s damn near too easy, but Ryan’s not complaining as Wilson leads him inside, shutting the door behind them and heading to the desk. His back is turned when Ryan feels the cool handle of the knife inside his jacket, slipping it up his sleeve in a fluid motion before Wilson turns back around. 

“Now, since you’re new here I’d probably start off small, but it all depends on what you’re looking for.”

“Starting small? You know, I noticed a Vom Feuer model the other day that I couldn’t get back in the States - Assault Shotgun. Heard it’s good for home defense.” It’s all Ryan can do not to grin. The thing’s a high powered death machine at close range and made for outnumbered combat. One of the Vagabond’s favorites when there’s no pretense of subtlety. 

Wilson snorts, shaking his head. “Sure, if you don’t care much about the walls. But yeah, I’ve got some stock to sell on that front, but they don’t come cheap.”

“Of course.” Ryan leans forward as Wilson grabs a sheet of paper from the desk and starts writing, a price that they both know full well is overblown. But it’s enough of a distraction, and the clock has long since started ticking on the Vagabond’s patience now that his target is right in front of him, alone. Ryan feels his lips twitch up in a grin.

One moment, Wilson is leaning over the paper, opening his mouth to talk about the numbers written there and the next the collar of his nicely pressed shirt is in Ryan’s fist, yanking him forward just as the blade of the knife is jabbed right above his adam’s apple. For a brief, silent moment there’s no blood, no movement. Then Ryan jerks his hand to the right, blade tearing through skin and flesh and sinew like it was nothing.

It’s not a clean kill, but it is a silent one. The papers on the desk are splattered in red, and Ryan’s knife along with his hands are bloodied. Carefully, he shoves the body back into the chair as it’s still gurgling and grabs the handkerchief from the man’s front pocket, wiping down his hands methodically. Luckily, his sleeves are unstained. The Vagabond lets out a slow breath, watching with an almost curious glint to his eye as Wilson, still barely clinging to life, tries to breathe around the blood rapidly filling his airway. 

Ryan gets up, walking over to a mirror and checking the suit for any splatters. It’s dark for a reason, and he spots away a couple places with a spare cloth from his pocket before wiping down the knife and placing it back into the inside breast pocket. If it weren’t so crowded, if he didn’t have Gavin to get back to, he’d try to savor this a little more. Be a little more theatric - The dead deserved some last minute entertainment, after all. But he could feel himself breathing a little easier, the tightness in his chest which had grown with anticipation loosening some as he looked back over, watching as the body slowly went still even as blood continued to flow from the wound. The entire front of what had once been a man was soaked in it.

All in all, it probably took a good fifteen minutes of rough cleanup. The purpose wasn’t to properly dispose of or hide the body - Just tidy up enough so someone taking a cursory glance into the room wouldn’t notice it. Wilson was stored unceremoniously under the desk, crumpled into a loose fetal position, and the bloodied papers were stacked neatly and set inside one of the drawers. The bloodstain on the desk itself was mopped up with Wilson’s suit jacket and then covered in paperwork, and from a quick glance no one would have reason to guess anything untoward had happened here. 

 

Gavin should have known his luck couldn’t hold. 

He’d been chatting up a group of giggly drunks, laughing along with them, gushing about beaches he’d never seen and mountain ranges he’d only been driven past as though he’d seen them from the tippy top. And he’d been watching, all night, just to be sure - ever since entering the building he’d been checking for faces with even a hint of familiarity. With Ryan at his side no one would bother him anyway, just assuming that some client was bringing him around as a pretty trophy. Not technically within the bounds of what his boss liked, but not unheard of.

But he was alone when a familiar voice approached him, smooth like silk and making Gavin feel cold to his core. 

“Well, it’s nice to see a familiar face, isn’t it?” Gavin turned, trying to maintain the smile that had been lingering on his expression. It felt almost stuck there, and there was no doubt anyone looking closely could see right through him. The man in front of him certainly did, the polite smile on his expression verging on a smirk. He was older than Gavin, strands of grey streaking through dark hair that was as well-maintained as the rest of him, seeming more suited for a red carpet than a mixer, even one as extravagant as this. His eyes seemed grey to Gavin, like slate, curiosity and questions dancing in them as he waited for an answer. 

He couldn’t. The memories choked him - a collar around his throat, a shock of electricity seizing his body, Michael begging - 

“I imagine Jones is nearby somewhere, isn’t he?” The little prompt manages to get a word out of Gavin, relief washing away some of the helplessness.

“No.” No, Michael wasn’t here, wasn’t anywhere near this man, Michael was home and safe. And Gavin was alone. 

“Really? Now that’s interesting. Why don’t we have a chat?” It’s phrased as a question but it isn’t, the smile is deadly and Gavin is desperately out of place. He’s caught, and the best he can hope for it not to blow their cover by making a big scene. His arm is taken and he’s led to a quiet hallway, past where he saw Ryan head with the champagne and further down. 

“You’re acting awfully skittish, Gavin.” The voice is lower now, less genial now that they’re away from the crowd. “How’d you end up in a place like this by yourself? It’s dangerous for a pretty little thing like you.” It’s halfway between compliment and admonishment, and Gavin lets out a shaky breath.  
“I’m here with a client. If he can’t find me he might get...upset.” That much, at least, is true. Ryan promised to come back for him soon, and for Gavin no moment is soon enough. He sees a scowl cross the man’s face, and it’s one Gavin recognizes. Jealousy. He’d feel vindictive about it if he wasn’t so terrifying. 

They're too close together, and Gavin couldn't escape even if he wasn't afraid of making a scene. He knows this guy is strong - he’s seen it, felt it. And Gavin just isn't. He’s thin and clumsy and unarmed, and he needs someone else to be his protector. Michael’s not at his side to try and draw the man’s ire, Ryan isn't here to take him away from the danger. But he's not far, and Gavin tries to comfort himself with that.

“Mm. But he left you alone? In a crowd full of threats - I’d really expect higher standards from your boss, if he thought I wasn’t gentle enough on you two. People like this could eat you alive, Free, without putting a hair out of place.” It’s phrased like a warning, but the glint in the man’s eye makes it sound like he’s enjoying the idea. 

“Of course, that’s not how you’ve been introducing yourself, is it? Playing the trophy husband - it’s a good act, you have them fooled into thinking you’re worth that much.” 

It stings, but rings true. Gavin had been enjoying the act, playing like he belonged here, but that's all it was. Ryan may have been acting too, but at least he had an excuse. If people knew what he really was, what he was here for, they’d be afraid. If they knew Gavin like this man did, they’d barely bother to look at him. 

“What do you want? I can't be away this long, it's unprofessional.” It's impossible to look at the man while he says it, eyes trained on the ground, trying to look the part of obedience rather than looking for an escape. He feels a hand grip his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. It hurts and Gavin hears himself draw in a breath, shaky as he meets the man’s eyes.

“You should know better than to talk like that to me.” The words are spoken almost softly, but the grip and the look in his eye is anything but. Gavin winces, giving as much of a nod as he can. 

“I'm sorry.” It's easier to bend, to put his head down and wait it out. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ryan leaving the side office, braids in his hair and the suit as perfect as when he’d left Gavin just a few minutes ago. And he was alone. The relief in his expression must have shown, because he hears a scoff as the man lets him go, turning slightly to see where Gavin was looking. 

“Call him over, then. I’m curious.” It’s not a request, but Gavin wouldn’t deny it anyway, seeking any possible out.

“James?” His voice carries, taking a step slightly away from the man as Ryan turns immediately, catching Gavin’s eye with a slight furrow to his brow before smiling warmly, heading over. Even though it may still be part of the act, the affectionate look that Ryan gives him as he takes up a place at Gavin’s side still eases his nerves. 

“Who’s this, Nick?” 

“Ah, we can skip that part. My name is Cain, I’m acquainted with Gavin. Surprised to see him here, honestly.” It’s the first time Gavin’s heard the name - probably an alias, like anyone with a lick of sense, but he wouldn’t know. Neither he or Michael were ever given a name for the man. 

Ryan’s expression is neutral as he shrugs, one arm wrapping around Gavin’s waist. 

“Well, I’d appreciate you not compromising our cover, then.” 

Gavin hasn’t known Ryan for very long, but he can recognize a threat when he hears one. He finds himself pressing a little closer to the gent, keeping his breathing steady. It helps that Cain isn’t even looking at him now - he’s looking at Ryan, almost like he’s trying to puzzle the man out. 

“We should talk. Make sure we’re not stepping on each other’s toes.” His palms are up, a gesture of innocence.

 

Ryan doesn’t buy it for a moment. Gavin’s practically shivering next to him, and it’s not cold in here. This guy scares him, and Ryan hates to think how long he might have had to be alone with the fucker. He didn’t take too much time with Wilson, thankfully, but even so. That being said, the idea of getting Cain away from any witnesses does sound appealing. 

“Sounds good. Know a quiet place?” Unfortunately, the one Ryan found is a bit occupied at the moment, and Cain dips his head, glancing down the hallway. 

“Quite familiar, actually.” As he gestures Ryan to follow him the gent takes Gavin’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze of reassurance. The return of the gesture nearly feels like it might break his fingers. He doesn’t flinch, but he does take a mental catalogue of the weapons hidden within his suit jacket, wondering quietly which would be most appropriate. 

They enter what seems to be a guest room, and Ryan takes stock of what he can assume are doors to a closet and a bathroom. 

“Let’s talk then. I have to ask - how’d you manage to get this one out on his own, and in a place like this?” Cain sounds genuinely curious, glancing only briefly at Gavin but addressing Ryan entirely, as if Gavin is hardly even there. Ryan doesn’t exactly want to entertain this line of conversation, but he wants to make sure this is clean.  
“Why don’t you go sit at the desk for a bit, Gavin?” Ryan’s gentle suggestion is spoken as he lets go of Gavin’s hand, gesturing to the cushioned rolling chair on the other side of the room. The lad looks up at him with a brief flash of nerves, but nods without speaking and goes over. To Cain, it looks like Ryan’s dismissing the lad, but really Ryan just wants Gavin a few feet back in case this turns into a scuffle. 

“Little bit of rule-bending, I’ll admit.” The response is delayed, but mostly honest. “Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity, I suppose. The standards can be quite strict, I'm sure you're familiar.” Cain’s watching Ryan closely, which is unfortunate. He wants the element of surprise here - mostly to try and keep things quiet. But even as he’s focusing on that thought, there’s a growing sense of anger he’s doing his best to keep at bay. He’s seen the shit that’s happened to Gavin and Michael, what their boss didn’t consider to be crossing his ‘standards’. So what the fuck was this guy doing that he’d managed to cross a line? 

“I haven’t run into any issues yet.” He risks a glance over to Gavin. The man looks shaky still, but more stable sitting down and not being quite so close. The way the three of them are arranged, Cain would have to push past Ryan to get to Gavin, and that simply isn’t going to happen. 

“Even getting the two of them apart?” It’s a loaded question and Ryan takes a slow breath, meeting the man’s eyes with an easy shrug. 

“It’s temporary, couldn’t bring them both here. Only one date on the invitation, after all.” 

“Mm. So that’s all you’re using him for?” It sounds so casual, the dismissive tonality, and Ryan has to remind himself to keep his face stoic. What the Vagabond wouldn’t give for a soundproofed room, or at the very least a darkened alleyway rather than a guest room at a party full of listening ears.

“Again, can’t help but wonder what you’re asking for.” There’s a chill to Ryan’s tone, and it’s matched with an unexpected burst of laughter from Cain. 

“I’m not here to make enemies, James. Whatever your business is here, it’s unlikely to be big enough to be my problem. I’m just curious as to whether you need him after the party’s done. I know it’ll likely cause some trouble with Sundown, but I can certainly make it worth your while. And I guarantee there will be no trouble with your cover here.” 

Oh.

Oh, THAT’S who this fucker is. 

Jones had warned him the other day, that there was someone out there who wanted to take Gavin for himself, that their boss had refused to take the particular client because he was too dangerous. Instead, Michael had been worried that if they were too much trouble Gavin may end up in Cain’s possession entirely. Michael had said that Gavin didn’t know anything about that, but the lad looks terrified anyway. He’s trying not to be seen, eyes downcast and still as death, but Ryan can practically feel the anxiety radiating off of him. 

In a moment, Ryan feels a rush of similar feeling, putting himself in Gavin’s shoes. He’s here with a practical stranger on nothing but trust, with his most ardent protector far away, being spoken about like a toy to be passed around. The only other people in this building are well connected criminals with no motivation to help him. It hurts before shifting to anger, building in his chest when Cain looks over to Gavin, grinning like he’s already sure he’s going to get his way. 

The Vagabond’s patience runs out. 

 

One moment, the two of them are talking, and then it goes quiet. Gavin can feel himself being stared at but he doesn’t risk a glance upward, not wanting to meet the man’s eyes, wanting to be done and gone and out of this place. Ryan had been keeping up a more or less civil conversation, and Gavin’s worried. Worried it’s going to be his fault Ryan’s cover gets blown, worried it’s going to turn into some kind of fight like it had with Michael when Cain pushed too far and the lad couldn’t take it anymore. Worried Ryan might cut and run, taking the loss on Gavin in order to finish the job if that’s what it takes. 

And then he hears a body hit the ground. He’s out of his seat in a moment, trying to get a look, but Ryan’s form is between him and Cain and he can’t see until he moves closer. He hears a moan of pain and manages to get just behind Ryan, glancing around him and catching sight of Cain, flat on his back with blood flowing profusely from his nose, trying to lift himself up, or rather - 

“Ryan!”

Gavin sees the gun first, panic gripping him, immobilizing him. The shot is quieter than it should be but Ryan staggers back into him, breathing hard through clenched teeth. He sees a knife in the gent’s hand the moment before he lunges, wrestling the figure on the ground until the gun is knocked away, towards the desk. 

It’s a bloody sight, the cream carpet underfoot splattered in crimson - from the gunshot or the blade that has come into play, seeming to have cut some sort of artery in Cain’s wrist. Gavin manages to break from the paralysis that seemed to have taken hold, moving for the gun. The weight of it is unfamiliar, but he levels it, getting around the scuffle and seeing that Ryan has a hand clamped firmly over Cain’s mouth. At the sight of his own silenced pistol aimed at his forehead, the man goes entirely still. The gent looks up to him for a brief moment, recognition flashing in his eyes before he turns back to Cain, the blade Gavin had seen before balanced precariously over the man’s neck. 

“Thanks, Gavin. I’ve got it now.” The voice is so oddly soothing despite the circumstances, but Gavin’s watching Cain’s eyes. He looks like an animal caught in a trap, bloody and breathing heavy through his nose, chest heaving as if even that is difficult. Gavin wouldn’t be surprised - Ryan’s a big guy, and he’s got a knee buried so deep in Cain’s stomach it has to be crushing some internal organs somewhere. It should be horrific, the blood, the anticipation of death, but Gavin feels calmer now than he has since catching sight of a familiar face in the crowd. One moment, and he’ll never see that face again.

He pulls the trigger.

Everything seems to move rather quickly after that. Ryan removes himself from the body, gently taking the gun from Gavin’s hands. The lad doesn’t try to stop him, still spotless despite what he’s done. Ryan, on the contrary, looks like something out of a horror movie. He’s splattered in blood, both on his face and his nice suit. But there’s something very careful in his expression, looking Gavin over as if expecting to see injury even though he’d been away from the danger. 

“You should get cleaned up.” Gavin more hears himself saying it rather than thinking of the words, and Ryan glances back to the corpse. 

“Yeah. One minute.” He takes the gun and places it somewhat haphazardly by Cain’s hand, and the knife nearest to the largest bloodstain which had come from the arterial bleeding. It’s not exactly a perfect job, but possibly enough to trick someone for a few minutes into thinking it was a particularly botched suicide. 

“Come with me?” Ryan gestures towards the bathroom and Gavin follows him, watching as the gent methodically pulls off the suit jacket, running cold water in the sink and beginning the process of cleaning off his face. It feels almost comfortable, except that Ryan keeps stealing looks at him from the mirror when he thinks Gavin won’t notice. 

“Shouldn’t I be covering for you outside?” They’ve been gone longer than Ryan planned on, obviously, and Gavin didn’t want to risk messing up the job - 

“Gavin. Stay here.” Ryan’s voice is calm as anything, but there’s no bend to it. He’s moving a little slower now, and Gavin can see that his hands are shaking a bit despite his stoic demeanor.

“We’re going to have to leave a bit early.”

It’s only then that Gavin notices that Ryan looks pale and is holding onto the sink counter, not entirely stable. His mind replays the scene in reverse, the bullet in Cain’s forehead, the look in his eyes right before, the knife that seemed to come from nowhere, Ryan staggering back into him

The gunshot. 

Ryan’s been shot.

 

He’s not processing the pain just yet, and it’s a blessing that won’t hold much longer. Ryan needs to get himself presentable, get himself and Gavin out of this place and somewhere safe. It’s already clear that the wound isn’t deadly, having been poorly aimed and hitting just above his left hip, shy of bone. Ryan hasn’t gotten a good look at it, but he’s willing to bet it’s gone straight through. 

That doesn’t mean the blood loss won’t get to him though, or that the pain will stay at bay for any length of time. There’s already an ache creeping up on him, sharpening his other senses even as he tries to keep up a soothing face for Gavin.

He just killed a man, after all, and it might have been his first. That’s not something to take lightly. Unfortunately, they don’t have a lot of time for a conversation about the weight of intentional death and other such moral conundrums. 

“How’s the jacket look?” Gavin looks a little stunned, looking at the blood-soaked undershirt with wide eyes as the stain grows.

“Gavin. No time for that. Jacket?”

“Right, yeah, not - not great, but it’s dark. The shirt will show under it.” 

“Okay.” Ryan sets to unbuttoning it, just as a flash of pain shoots across his abdomen and he clenches his teeth, taking in a deep breath before finishing the action. He shoves it under the cold water, making it into a rag as he cleans the wound as well as he can. The bleeding isn’t close to stopping, and each movement seems to bring the pain into greater focus. 

“Ryan?” Fuck, Gavin sounds close to freaking out. Shit. “Should I call someone?” 

“No one to call.” That’s a lie. Ryan could call Jack, but this isn’t serious enough for that, nor does he want to explain the second corpse or Gavin’s involvement right now. And Jeremy’s keeping Michael safe. 

“I’m gonna be fine, Gav.” That’s probably not a lie. Ryan straightens up, pulling the suit jacket on. It looks wrong without the undershirt, but if anyone asks Ryan can just say he got a stain on it. He’s not up to any more clever excuses. 

“Are you ready?” Gavin looks anxious still, but he nods. 

“Yeah.” 

Leaving the party, Gavin is back to the man Ryan had grown accustomed to having on his arm over the night. Collected, charming, garnering sympathies for James’ sudden bout of unwellness, made all the more believable by the fact that Ryan can’t help but lean on him a bit as the lightheadedness is starting to get to him. They make it out to the valet without a hitch, and the moment the car doors shut with both of them inside Ryan can feel relief starting to settle in beside the exhaustion and the pain pulsing through his body, slowly beginning the drive home. 

“I’m sorry.” Gavin’s voice is small again as he speaks, looking over at Ryan every few moments in between keeping an eye on the road. “If you’d been with Rimmy that wouldn’t’ve happened or if I’d stayed out of sight and I’m sorry I killed him, I didn’t ask if that was okay or if that would mess up your job I just did it and -”

“I wasn’t going to leave him alive, Gavin. Not after how he treated you. And certainly not after shooting me.” Ryan’s voice is strained, he can’t help it, but Gavin seems to relax at least somewhat at that logic. 

“You could’ve left before that. Would’ve been safer for you.” It’s spoken softly, still, but with a kind of amazement, like Gavin still can’t believe Ryan didn’t leave him behind when the offer was made to be rid of him.

“Michael would have personally torn my throat out and I would have deserved it.” The reply is simple, accompanied by a weak chuckle. Fuck, yep, the pain’s really setting in now. The car swerves and he quickly corrects it. 

Either Gavin is quieted by the stress of Ryan’s erratic driving or the response is enough to make him think, but whichever it is the ride is quiet from there. The house comes into view, and Ryan breathes out a sigh of relief that it’s only Jeremy’s hideous vehicle and Ryan’s own motorcycle sitting in the driveway. As they get out of the car, Ryan tries not to think about the amount of blood he’s leaving in the front seat.

They make their way up to the doorway, Ryan leaning heavily on Gavin’s side. It’s almost impressive that the gent makes it up to the porch before his vision starts to blur, even more so that he manages to make it inside the door before his legs seem to give out from under him. Gavin manages to catch him, stumbling under the weight as Jeremy springs up from the living room to help. Michael seems to have a harder time getting to his feet, expression flooded with concern. 

It's the last thing Ryan sees before his vision goes completely dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't write for the day 2 prompt of inktober, but I did get this chapter finished, so I'm going to take that as a win.


	5. Safe Haven

The moment Gavin was gone, Michael felt guilty. He hated even leaving his boi alone somewhere that was proven safe, and this was far from it. His only solace was that Ryan was clearly the protective type, and Gavin seemed confident in his ability to mingle with the crowd. 

Then again, Gavin was a great actor. Even in front of Michael.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna go change but do you want me to grab you anything while I’m up?” Rimmy’s voice pulled Michael from his internal guilt and he glanced up. The guy looked younger even than Gavin, but he was built like a weightlifter. Even if Michael wasn’t half beat to hell he wasn’t sure he could take the guy. Not that that was going to be an issue, since Rimmy was looking at him like some kind of sick puppy.

“Water bottle if there’s any in there?” Michael shrugged, and Rimmy gave a nod, heading to the kitchen first and grabbing a bottle before tossing it to Michael, seemingly without thinking much of it. The sudden ache in his shoulder was worth it to see the guy’s eyes widen when Michael snatches it out of the air, some apology waiting on his lips as Michael gives a brief chuckle.

“I’m not fuckin’ porcelain, dude.” 

“No, yeah, sorry though. Back in a second.” The man vanishes into the bedroom, leaving Michael alone to his own devices for a moment. He considers fiddling with the remote. Some sitcom and stuffing his face with leftovers could probably delay any awkward conversations for at least half an hour. After that Michael’s drawing blanks. 

He’s curious about the guy, definitely. Having a loose idea as to what Ryan does, it’s easy to start putting together some of the pieces. And talking to Rimmy could probably start giving him a few more, since they seem to be working for the same employers. Trouble is, these kinds of conversations are sort of a two way street, and Michael doesn’t exactly have information he’s able to share. He could always lie his ass off, but he’s never been quite as good at that as Gavin is. 

Then again, he’s also never been particularly good at keeping his mouth shut.

When Rimmy comes back, Michael has to keep himself from choking on his water. No longer is he dressed in the nice, suave suit he’d arrived in. Now he’s in bright purple sweat pants and a traffic cone orange tank top with a purple dragon on it. It’s a goddamn eyesore, but at least his arms are good looking. 

“I almost hate to ask.” Rimmy starts to laugh, leaning on the doorframe into the livingroom and cocking an eyebrow. It’s like he wants to try and keep a serious expression and utterly can’t. 

“Yes?” 

“Actually, you know what, doesn’t matter. You do you man.” Michael rolls his eyes and grins, taking another drink from the bottle. Rimmy almost looks disappointed, but he comes over to sit on the other side of the couch anyway. He looks curious, which should be making Michael nervous, but he isn’t. 

“So. You’re a trainee?” 

“Yeah. Me an’ - Well, we’re not supposed to say.” Michael catches himself, frowning at that. “Really should come up with something. Jones is probably fine, there’s a million of them. I’ll ask Vagabond about it later.”

“It’s fine, don’t rush it. Names stick pretty fast once you start using them.” Michael nods at that, wondering if Rimmy’s ‘stuck’ with that look. Somehow, he doesn’t think so. The man looks far too pleased with himself. 

“So uh, how’d you end up getting involved with the Vagabond?” Michael heard that name before, from the doorway when Rimmy walked up. Vagabond. It feels familiar, and that’s strange by itself. Ryan certainly didn’t introduce himself with it, but it feels like Michael should know it. 

“Ran into him in a shitty situation, basically. He offered to help us out and teach us some things.” It’s truth, even though it’s vague. Ryan has been trying to keep them safe, and he offered to help Gavin and Michael pick up some skills to be able to do it themselves. Michael is beginning to guess, based on context, what some of those skills might be. 

“And you? How do you know him?”

“Oh, uh, we’ve kinda got the same bosses. He’s been working for them longer, but when he had to take a break for a bit I got hired on to take care of some stuff.” Yeah, that about tracks with what Michael knows. Ryan had mentioned being ‘on leave’, though it didn’t sound exactly voluntary. And that his bosses may not have been particularly pleased with him. 

“You know why he got benched?” Michael tries to make the question casual, taking a drink from the water bottle as he watches Rimmy. He’s not sure if it lands, but the guy leans back, cracking his neck a bit. 

“Uhhh….how strong’s your stomach?” 

Michael barks out a laugh, pushing down the memories that threaten to bubble up at the question. A boot on his throat, a shotgun fired into someone’s gut in the back alley back in Jersey, a three to one fight just yesterday where he wasn’t able to risk landing a blow - 

“Pretty strong.”

“So, and this is just what I've heard, but apparently Vagabond got sent out about a month ago for a hit on some bigwig, I think it was a bank exec? Anyway, the job was to take him out at his house, pretty quiet. Except turns out he was having some sort of wine tasting or whatever it is rich fucks do for birthdays. So, crowded house, lots of potential witnesses.”

“So he got seen?” Michael can’t help the question, glancing over as he listens. Rimmy snorts, shrugging.

“Yeah, you could call it that. He slaughtered the whole house, though not before someone managed to call the cops. Took out about a dozen of those too before losing the heat.” Rimmy shakes his head. “One guy! The job was one guy. The bosses weren’t real happy about that.”

Oh. Okay. Yeah, Michael knows why he remembered the Vagabond now. 

He’s heard the name, hushed conversations between figures that seem to forget his presence, news broadcasts turned low, but that one. He’d actually heard talk about that party, it’d been a stir among some of the high roller clients who knew people who’d been there. No love lost, generally, but the brutality of it was frightening to people in power. Michael hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Not really his business, or his problem. 

It should have been horrifying to think about now, especially considering that Gavin was alone with someone capable of that degree of violence. Despite that, Michael couldn’t muster what seemed like an appropriate level of panic. He’d seen the room full of weapons, the expanse of scars adorning Ryan’s body, a mural that spelled out his lifestyle as if in neon lettering. He knew enough to make an educated guess. And he’d trusted Ryan anyway. 

The only real surprise was the notoriety - The Vagabond was far from some random muscle or hired gun for a decent crew. He was a Fake. The Mad fucking Mercenary. And for some reason, he’d taken an interest in Michael and Gavin. He doesn’t exactly have time to contemplate why, Rimmy’s watching him almost expectantly for a response to the gruesome tale.

“Oh, right, yeah. I heard about that whole fiasco.” Michael’s response is clearly a little lackluster for Rimmy, who breathes out a little huff. 

“Yeah, it was definitely something. Anyway, that’s why he got benched, and why I was supposed to accompany him for this one.” A hand comes up to rub the back of Jeremy’s neck, looking a little guilty at that. “But, hey, shit happens. So long as that doesn’t happen again tonight, they probably won’t ask a whole lot of questions.” There’s a pause, and it seems like Rimmy is weighing his next words before he shares them. Michael can’t help but wish he’d kept them to himself.

“So, professional curiosity or whatever but uh - What happened to you?” It’s a bit blunt, but Michael had seen it coming. He looks like a wreck, there’s no hiding it. And it influenced Rimmy’s job with the Vagabond too, so it’s not so surprising that he’d want some sort of explanation. 

“Right, that.” Michael can’t help the somewhat off-put chuckle, looking over to the TV even though it was turned off. Maybe he should have tried to find some other delay or distraction, but it was too late now. 

“I didn’t exactly keep my mouth shut when I should have, ended up a bit outnumbered.” There was some truth to that at least - Not that it would have mattered in the end if Michael was perfectly ‘behaved’, people who wanted a fight would find an excuse one way or another and the lad sometimes couldn’t help but set the fuse early, just to have it over and done with. 

“Sorry to hear that, man. Did Vagabond get you out?.” It’s an innocent question, but Michael feels himself flinch a bit. No, no one ‘got him out’. He just had to wait until the fuckers were done with him. Of course, Ryan would’ve tried, if he’d known. Michael is almost certain of that. But that wasn’t how things went down. 

“Nah, he didn’t know. I got out okay on my own, all things considered. I’ll be good in a couple days.” Rimmy still looks a bit unnerved, but he doesn’t press and silence falls over them in a lull. Outside is dark now, and not far from the house the sound of ocean waves lap on the rocky beach. Most places in Los Santos are loud, densely populated, but this is the kind of place where people go to disappear. Seems fitting that the Vagabond would find such a spot for his ‘home base’ of sorts. 

Sure, it had freaked Michael out initially, but knowing what he knew now he could understand it. The Vagabond was infamous, that had to come with enemies. Best to have someplace off the radar to hole up between jobs. And it made even more sense now why Ryan had talked about his bosses ‘not being pleased’ about the idea of someone else knowing where it was. It wasn’t just Michael and Gavin either - their boss would come looking for them once Ryan’s time was up, probably later tomorrow afternoon. He was really sticking his neck out for the two of them. 

He’d told them why - That he couldn’t get peace of mind knowing what he knew and not doing anything, that Ryan wanted to do something good, and Michael believed him. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, sure, but that didn’t make it any less true. And while he hadn’t asked for anything in return, Michael knew he was going to try and pay the man back in whatever way he could - Soon as he was recovered and things had settled down a bit, he’d find a way. 

“So. What kinda stuff are you into? Not like, work stuff, but do you play any games?” The silence broke as Rimmy gave a sort of half smile over to Michael, clearly trying to lighten the topic and Michael is happy to go that route, chatting comfortably with him about Zelda and Spyro and the kind of games they’d gotten into as kids. It was nice, and Michael found himself having to hold back from laughing too much and hurting himself, much to Rimmy’s chagrin. The guy was funny, quick on his feet and genuinely nice to be around. He could almost forget Rimmy was supposed to be a partner to the Vagabond, a frightening criminal of the Fake’s empire in his own right. Or at least training to be. 

A couple hours were spent that way, lulling between silence where Michael occasionally dozed and easy conversation, steering away from harsher topics or speculating about how the other two were doing. He wasn’t sure if Rimmy was doing it for Michael’s sake or his own, but he appreciated it nonetheless. It wasn’t until they heard a car pulling up that Michael was jerked back to full awakeness, craning his head over the couch to look to the window. The curtains were drawn, but he could see the glow of headlights behind them. Had to be them. It was a little faster than Michael had expected, but he wasn’t complaining. 

“Must have finished up quick.” There was a slight caution to Rimmy’s tone, as if concerned about the fact, but Michael is eager to see his boi again, make sure he’s still doing okay after being out somewhere strange without Michael. He’s got no doubt that Ryan would do his best to keep the man safe, but shit happened and Michael was no stranger to that. 

The door opens and Michael cranes his neck over the couch to see, the darkness outside silhouetting the two. Ryan’s leaning heavily on Gavin, to the extent that he looks drunk. But there’s hardly time for Michael to ask before Ryan collapses and Rimmy is vaulting over the couch. Gavin’s doing his best to keep Ryan from hitting the ground but the gent is heavy, it takes both of them to keep him upright. It’s only then that Michael sees blood, dripping onto the carpet and seeping through the gent’s suit.

“Gavin, shit, what happened -” Michael’s only halfway across the room by the time he can speak, pain temporarily forgotten as he catches sight of Gavin’s panicked expression. 

“He got shot, I don’t - Is he gonna be okay?” Rimmy is assessing the damage as he helps Gavin get Ryan to a chair, looking surprisingly steady. 

 

“Yeah, people walk away from worse - Go to the bathroom, behind the mirror is where the med kit should be.” Jeremy keeps his tone as calm and straightforward as possible, removing the suit jacket and pressing part of it to the wound. The blood flow seems to have already slowed down considerably, and the Vagabond is still breathing fairly steady. Probably just blood loss and pain that put him out, and he could recover from both. Jeremy’s seen worse, considerably so, get patched up without much trouble. Gavin - That’s what Jones called him, an easy slip of the tongue in a moment of panic - has already rushed off, and Jones looks almost lost, staring at Ryan. 

“Hey, you mind holding this for me? I’m gonna need a free hand.” Jones moves closer, taking over like he’s done this before - Maybe he has. “Thanks.” 

Gavin rushes back, holding the medical kit. The plastic is still on it - clearly the Vagabond’s never bothered to use it before. Inside there’s gauze, a roll of bandaging, and most importantly in Jeremy’s mind at the moment, antibiotics. It’s as he’s cleaning the wound that the Vagabond starts coming back, a hiss of pain the first indication that he’s awake. Jeremy glances up, catching his eye.

“So. Wanna explain what happened?” There’s no conciliatory tone to Jeremy’s voice, it’s almost harsh, but he doesn’t make any effort to soften it. Gavin seems to flinch, hovering at the Vagabond’s side like he’s afraid to move too far from him, Michael just a step or two away.

“Everything’s fine, we got out without a fuss.” Well, that’s a good start at least. Jeremy hasn’t even pulled out his phone, wary to call either of their bosses until the story is straight. So far at least it doesn’t seem like the Vagabond soaked the fancy party in blood, so that’s a step in the right direction.

“Body count?” The second most important question, right after ‘Did anyone see you?’.

“Two. Took care of Wilson. Second guy called himself Cain. He got in the way - would’ve gotten us caught.” The Vagabond’s gaze is stoic, despite the paleness to his skin and the slight shake to his fingers he seems more or less okay. Jeremy can’t read him, whether he’s lying or not. Gavin looks nervous, but considering the situation…Jeremy’s ready to let that part go.

“Yeah, okay. You can probably go without stitches on this one, it went straight through. Just need to go easy on it - Got anything stronger for the pain?” There’s a few dollar store painkillers set beside the med kit but they’re meager in the face of a gunshot wound. Better than nothing by a slim margin, but still.

“I can handle it.” So, no. 

“Alright, well, good luck sleeping then Vagabond. Look, I don’t have to go through Pattillo, if you’re trying to keep this under wraps but they’re gonna notice you’ve been fuckin’ shot.” Jeremy can’t help the rising irritation, he just saw the man pass out for fuck’s sake, he’s not fooling anybody with the tough guy act. The least he can do after putting Jeremy and the others under this level of stress is to recover quickly.

“I don’t need to sleep.” The Vagabond’s voice is insufferably calm, which doesn’t help.

“I’m gonna punch you in the throat.” Jeremy shoots back, unable to miss the way that the side of the Vagabond’s mouth twitches up into the beginnings of a grin. 

“Now’s the best time, really.” Jeremy can see the way the Vagabond’s eyes flick over to the other two, as if checking to make sure they’re not too worried. Gavin looks anxious still, but Jones has an arm around him and is just rolling his eyes, seeming unfazed by the banter. And that’s all it is really - Jeremy’s worried and Vagabond’s trying to brush it off as well as he can, probably trying to avoid getting Pattillo involved. 

Jeremy ends up giving in first, not actually willing to escalate the situation while the Vagabond is injured and Gavin kept shooting him sidelong looks like he wasn’t sure if there was actually going to be conflict.

“Well, I’m taking a rain check. I’ll give the report back to the bosses, tell ‘em about Cain. Doubt they’ll be too bothered, no witnesses, all that. You want me to leave this out, or..” Jeremy sort of waves his hand to the bullet wound and Vagabond shrugs. 

“Just tell them it was clean, straight through, I’ll be back up to work when they need me.” The Vagabond looks confident in that, regardless of timeline. Somehow, Jeremy does believe that he’d be up for a job the moment their bosses came calling, unused to the sidelines even in recovery. 

“Alright, if you say so.” Jeremy looks over to the other two, sighing. “Take care of this wreck, would ya?” There’s an immediate smirk and an attempt to restrain a chuckle as Gavin sort of gently elbows his partner, looking over at Jeremy with sincerity. 

“Of course.” 

Jeremy doesn’t let the Vagabond get any parting words in, grabbing his bag with the suit off the couch and opening one of the zippers, grabbing out a small orange bottle and tossing it to Jones.

“If he needs them.” And then Jeremy is gone out the door, decidedly not waiting around for any of the three to ask him why he was carrying around heavy painkillers in his bag or for Vagabond to get in any more smug comments.

 

The door closes and Ryan finally sighs, trying to straighten up a bit in the chair and glancing over at Michael and Gavin. However, before he can say anything, Michael speaks first.

“Okay so one of you is gonna need to explain what the fuck happened.” Despite the inclusion of Gavin, Michael’s looking directly at Ryan. The gent nods, unsurprised. 

“Of course. Maybe we get some food together first, so I don’t fall asleep partway through it.” Honestly, Ryan’s head is still feeling a bit cloudy, but he hasn’t lost any memories of that night. Not yet, at least, and from the look on Gavin’s face it’s clear he hasn’t either. 

There’s a couple frozen pizzas and some mixed vegetables in the freezer and Gavin’s quick to set to work, busy hands eager to be moving and also the least injured of the three. Ryan’s mind is already racing to tomorrow, knowing that Michael and Gavin’s boss thinks they’re coming back. He’ll either send a driver or come himself, and whoever shows up is liable to get a bullet in the head. There’s more subtle ways of doing it, sure. The figure of the Vagabond is intimidating, scaring off some low level pimp wouldn’t exactly be the most difficult thing he’s ever done. 

Hell, if he wanted he could probably pay the fucker off - Ryan’s not exactly prone to excess, though his ammunitions costs are high his line of work is a lucrative one. He’s got funds to spare, especially if Geoff and Jack are going to start putting him on jobs again.

But no. Unless Gavin or Michael have some sort of objection to it, the man dies. Ryan would prefer to take a more theatrical approach, given the chance, but if push came to shove, well. Dead was dead.

They eat together in the living room, Gavin and Michael leaning against each other and Ryan in the chair across, quiet for a time. They haven’t had a moment of peace together since coming here and this is almost it, a slow drizzle of rain beginning to hit the roof, a warm meal. It almost feels safe. He can see the way Gavin’s slowly beginning to relax, the tension of the night draining out of him as if his body simply can’t hold onto it anymore. His shoulders drop, his expression goes a little more soft, his movements are slower and less fidgety. Michael seems mostly the same as he’s been since they came home, his gaze flicking to Ryan on occasion. It quickly shifts away when the gent catches it, but he does notice. However, there is some comfort in the way that he always seems to be touching Gavin in some way, leaving much of the couch empty in favor of being next to the other lad. 

“So, starting from the start then?” Ryan finally spoke up after about the half-dozenth time that Michael looked up at him, giving a somewhat tired smile. There’s no need to reassure the lad that he and Gavin are mostly fine - The latter slightly more than the former. 

“I don’t need every detail just. Broad strokes.” Michael sort of gestures when he speaks before pulling his arm back, as if suddenly being reminded that he still needs to take it easy. 

“Right. Gavin was helping me keep up good appearances with the crowd - You did very well on that, by the way -” Ryan gives a flash of an approving smile to Gavin and despite the stress of bringing up the topic again, the lad seems to perk up a bit under the praise. “I left him to it while I took care of my target. When I came back, someone was talking to him - The one who called himself Cain.”

“It was the guy from the island up past Paleto.” Gavin’s voice is quiet as he interjects, glancing at Michael. He seems to expect the reaction that’s coming - Michael goes completely tense, a flash of anger coming across his face like a match against a striker. His fingers dig into the couch, and Ryan can’t help but remember how afraid Gavin seemed when confronted with Cain, how close he’d pressed against Ryan when the gent was beside him.

How empty Gavin’s expression had been when he shot the man, how calm. He seems relatively calm even now, though that may just be for the sake of keeping Michael from completely igniting. 

“He talked, seemed like he was going to blow our cover, and I lost patience. Didn’t check him properly for a weapon before trying to take him down, that’s how I got this.” Ryan gestures vaguely to his side. “While we were both down..” Ryan hesitates, glancing to Gavin. They haven’t talked about this, and while Ryan’s fairly certain that the two lads are honest with each other, this may be more than Gavin is willing to share. However, the lad speaks up before the silence can stretch, looking to Michael.

“I got his gun and I shot him. An’ Ryan’s leaving out parts - He would’ve left Ryan alone if I went with him.” There’s guilt in Gavin’s tone - not about the first half of the statement, but the second, and Ryan bites his tongue against the obvious. Of course he would have never left Gavin. Not permanently, and certainly not with that creepy motherfucker. If Gavin hadn’t killed Cain Ryan certainly would have, though he would have tried to make sure the lad didn’t have to see it, given the chance. It seemed unfair to throw that kind of gruesome reality at Gavin when he hadn’t even begun to recover from his own traumas.

“Well I’m glad he’s dead and you’re both - Well, mostly okay. And, thanks, Ryan. For not taking the easy way out.” There’s a hard edge to the statement despite it’s sincerity, and Ryan is acutely aware of the fact that the ‘easy way’ would have included making an enemy of Michael Jones in a heartbeat. The guy was weak now, sure, but he’ll recover. Ryan knows the Vagabond is more than a match for damn near anybody in Los Santos, but Michael’s got potential. And maybe Ryan would like to see it, but preferably not turned on himself.

He’d like to keep his jaw in the proper alignment, thanks.

“Wouldn’t have been acceptable. But uh, we do have some other pressing matters to worry about. Such as tomorrow.”

“They’ll be sending a driver around noon, probably. Maybe a little later, but not much.” Gavin’s response is quiet, breathing out slow. “I know you wanna help, Ryan but…” He trails off for a moment, looking to Michael. The tension is back in his shoulders, guilt still lingering in his tone.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be causing trouble with you guys already hurt like this. If we go back Michael can get a rest for a bit, maybe I can take some jobs on my own and then when you’re better -” 

“Gavin.” Michael cuts in before Ryan can even think of a response, turning to face the lad fully. “I’m gonna say this, and you know that I love you, but shut the fuck up. You’re not doing that shit on your own. If you’re scared we can wait, it’s okay, but I’m not letting that happen.” 

“If you’re worried, we don’t have to...deal with any confrontation just yet. We can go somewhere else, I’ll make a call, tell him I’m buying more time. If he doesn’t like it he won’t be able to find us.” It’s a bit more complicated than it needs to be, sure, but Ryan’s not going to force Gavin to deal with this tomorrow after having been faced with what Ryan can only assume was a truly horrific ‘client’, killed him, and watched a bullet wound get patched up. It was a lot to take in. 

Besides. While Ryan was generally confident in his ability to take care of something of this caliber, he really couldn’t afford to be off his game on this one. The Vagabond was accustomed to working jobs with very little in the way of allies. Particularly those who weren’t well trained to defend themselves. He couldn’t take the same risks he usually would with other lives on the line. What should be a simple job - a bullet to an unsuspecting victim - could easily get messy if other variables came into play. Michael could hardly defend himself in his current state, Gavin was untrained, and Ryan was certainly not at his best. A rest could do them all some good.

“You’re sure?” Michael’s gaze is searching, and Gavin’s fidgeting, messing with the hem of the blanket like he’s been scolded somehow. 

“Of course. If we head out early enough they shouldn’t have any chance to catch us leaving or track where we’re going. Get a hotel or something on the other side of the city and turn the phone off after the call, should be fine for at least a few days.” 

Ryan's tone is confident, even though the thought of leaving the chair he's in and driving them all to a hotel doesn't exactly fill him with anticipation. He's tired, the pain is radiating through the entire side of his body, and his limbs feel like lead. But a few hours of rest should alleviate some of that, at least. 

“Sorry.” Gavin's voice is small, breathing out and looking up at Ryan almost cautiously. “I don't want to make things harder, you're already helping and I just. I don't want to ask for too much.”

 

It's not some self-destructive impulse that has Gavin trying to delay, to go back even though he wants nothing more than to have Michael safe, here, away from their Boss and the clients and the risk that comes with all of it. Ryan feels like safety, but he's also hurt and that's on Gavin. He needed to be protected, he was helpless and Ryan got shot to keep Cain from taking him. He could have died there, if luck had been a little more cruel.

He's seen Michael do it too - Take risks far above what he's able to handle, put himself between Gavin and a threat like a shield, like he was made of wood and iron rather than flesh and bone. He tries to brush it off, make a show of being invincible. But he isn't, and the bruising along his body and the developing scars show that. Not that it will stop Michael from stepping in again if something happens, if he can move quick enough to take a blow he will.

It's terrifying. Both of them are. Gavin adores Michael, has for a long time. They're each other's confidants, their home to come back to. And Ryan is quickly becoming a safe haven, reassuring smiles juxtaposing against the violence of which he's capable, the flash of knives and brutal confidence. The kind of confidence that had him charge a man with a gun because he ‘lost patience’ listening to him talk down on Gavin. 

The fact that he could lose either of them, that they would put themselves in danger to protect him, is a fear that overshadows everything else. It's making him irrational and Gavin can feel it creeping in the back of his head, telling him to drop the plan, go back where the dangers are ones he knows, ones he can handle. 

But.

But he doesn't want to go back. Gavin can feel Michael's arm around him and he leans into it, trying to steady his breathing, fighting back panic.

There's no safety going back. The last clients Michael had could have killed him, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't show up again. Their boss blamed Michael, of course. His loud mouth, his arrogance, it attracted certain kinds of people, brought out the worst in them. They wouldn't stop. It wouldn't suddenly get safer. There would always be another incident. And there would always be another Cain. 

“You're not asking too much.” Ryan's voice breaks the silence, shifting so he's sitting up a little straighter. His face betrays the pain in the action, but his voice is steady. 

“I want you both safe, and you're right. I'm not in the best condition right now. We can all use a breather, and then we can decide what comes next. There’s no harm in laying low for a bit.” The gent's steady reassurance washes over Gavin and he nods slowly. 

“Okay. Thank you.” Gavin's smile is a little weak but it's genuine and Ryan returns it, giving a short chuckle that ends abruptly with a quick shake of his head.

“Now you two go get some sleep, I'm not going anywhere for the night. Set an alarm for...probably five, just to give us all time to get ourselves together.” Ryan gives a short gesture to the bedroom, and while Gavin would normally protest taking a man's bed after he's just been shot, it’s clear Ryan has no desire to get out of the chair where he's already resting. 

“So, do you want these to help sleep?” Michael's got the bottle of pills Rimmy tossed to him and Ryan’s expression sours a bit as he shakes his head.

“They knock me out, I won't wake up in time if I take them.” 

And, oh, right, that kind of makes sense then. Why Ryan had been so aloof with Jeremy about the idea of taking anything for the pain but wouldn’t explain why. He wanted to make sure he was awake and alert in the morning, not groggy from pain medication. Gavin hated taking pills too, but he was fairly certain he’d cave if he had an injury like Ryan’s. 

“Alright, I’ll pack ‘em for tomorrow then. See you in the morning Rye.” The nickname seems to slip from Michael’s lips easily and Gavin smiles a bit at that, helping Michael stand from the couch. 

“I’ll clean up in here a bit and then meet you, okay boi?” There’s still plates to be cleared away and Michael nods, pressing a quick kiss to Gavin’s cheek before heading off, movements still slow but relatively steady. As promised Gavin sets to work, gathering up the plates and utensils. As he passes by Ryan he can’t help but notice that the gent’s eyes are following him, as if waiting to say something, but he doesn’t push it.

The cleaning is done relatively quick, dishes cleaned and rinsed and put away. It’s relaxing, almost - Gavin never really liked the chores back home, but it feels like normalcy. Like he didn’t just shoot a man in the head earlier that night. Like he wasn’t placing his life and his lover’s life in the hands of a hired killer. Like there wasn’t some sense of pride in what he’d done - Not just the murder, but the party, the easy lies and the golden facade, stringing people along into believing he was important, watching them buy every word off his lips. 

He’d enjoyed it, and even more with Ryan holding his arm, confident in his abilities, never showing a moment of doubt in Gavin. 

“Gavin.” Ryan’s voice, quiet as it was, called Gavin back into the living room easily once the dishes were done.

“Everything alright?” 

“I just want to let you know - We can talk about that, what happened with Cain. I didn’t mean for you to have to see something like that, let alone-” Ryan’s voice is laced with regret and exhaustion, and Gavin is already shaking his head.

“I’m not upset about it. I’m upset you got shot but not that I” It’s almost difficult to say the words, catching in his throat despite the power in them, or maybe because of it. “I’m not upset that I killed him. He deserved it. I wanted him gone.” 

He can almost feel Ryan relax, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and looking over Gavin, seeming contemplative, even curious. 

“Do you want to do it again?” Quiet as they are, gentle as they are, the words hit Gavin like a sucker punch. Does he? 

He thinks back to their boss berating Michael when he limped in, beaten half unconscious, telling him he’d upset their clients. He thinks about hands wrapped around his throat and the helplessness of it all, Michael just feet away but unable to help, the fury in him when he couldn’t protect Gavin. There’s dozens of memories like that, almost overwhelming. Burns on Michael’s skin, blows that nearly knocked out teeth, nightmares for weeks after of laughter, taunting and humiliating. Wouldn’t they deserve it? 

Hadn’t he and Michael earned it? 

“Yeah. I do.” It feels dangerous just to say it, to think that he’s got that kind of control, any semblance of that kind of power, or could have it. Gavin half expects Ryan to tell him off for it. Instead, he sees a hint of a crooked smile. 

“I can teach you. Give you everything I know. Both of you, if you want it.” Ryan looks almost eager now, and there’s something dangerous in that smile, tempting Gavin in. 

“I want it.” Gavin almost can’t help it, drawn into Ryan’s grin and the promise behind it. He doesn’t want to need people putting themselves on the line for him anymore, he wants to be able to protect himself, protect them too. The power wouldn’t just be an illusion then, something to hide behind until it was time to run. It could be real. 

“Good. I can start teaching you some of the basics tomorrow.” It seems so simple, but Gavin feels his brow furrowing, concern weaving its way into his voice.

“You shouldn’t strain yourself too soon - And I don’t know what you’re getting out of this, we’re already making things harder for you -”

“I want to see what you’re capable of.” Ryan’s voice cuts him off, there’s a sharpness to it but his gaze immediately softens a bit when Gavin flinches, taking his hand and brushing his thumb across it carefully. Gavin lets him, soothed by the action. “You and Michael both - You’ve got potential. I’ve got a selfish motive too. Whatever you become, I want it on my side rather than against me.” 

 

 

And it’s true. Ryan wants to keep them safe, certainly, but he’s seen the way Michael’s anger can flare up like a wild thing, so accustomed to being forcibly snuffed out. Ryan wants to see it unleashed, regardless of who it takes down to ash. Gavin’s already got a talent with people, weaving around them with stories like a honey-soaked spider’s web, entangling them even as they indulge in it. That, and a steady trigger finger coupled with grace under pressure. He’s seen truly vicious players in Los Santos’ criminal empire that started with far less natural ability.

They could certainly take care of themselves, given the proper tools, the proper lessons. They just needed a teacher. The Vagabond was more than capable of that.

“Get some rest, Gavin. Sleep on it, and we can talk tomorrow, okay?” He can see that Gavin is trying to overthink this and it’s been a long day for them both. The lad gives a soft sigh but he smiles, anticipation still lingering in his features. 

“Thanks, Ryan.” Gavin leans in, brushing a quick kiss to Ryan’s forehead and then he’s gone before Ryan can even say goodnight, quick and quiet like he was never there in the first place. Despite that, Ryan gives a soft laugh and closes his eyes, leaning back in the chair. Maybe he’ll sleep, maybe he won’t, but either way.

He’s ready for tomorrow.


End file.
